University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

The  Theodore  H.  Koundakjian 

Collection 
of  American  Humor 


THE 


LITTLE    FRENCHMAN 


AND 


HIS   WATER   LOTS, 


WITH 


OTHER    SKETCHES    OF    THE    TIMES. 


BY   GEORGE   P.   MORRIS. 


The  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water  has, 
And  these  are  of  them. 


WITH  ETCHINGS  BY  JOHNSON. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LEA    &    BLANCHARD, 

SUCCESSORS  TO  CAREY  &  CO. 

1839. 


ENTERED,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by 
LEA  &  BLANCUAKD,  in  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


G.  P.  SCOTT,  PRINTER, 

New  York. 


f'cprri  LIBRARY 


TO 

ROBERT    W.   WEIR,    ESQ., 

THESE  PAGES  ARE 
INSCRIBED, 

AS  A  MARE  OF  ESTEEM  AND  REGARD, 
BY  HIS  FRIEND, 

THE  AUTHOR. 


VtS   3KV 


PREFACE. 


THE  author  of  this  volume  does  not  apprehend,  that, 
among  the  objections  which  may  be  brought  against  it  by 
those  redoubtable  personages,  the  critics,  its  brevity  will  be 
included.  A  word  of  explanation,  however,  may  be  neces 
sary  to  account  for  its  somewhat  attenuated  dimensions.  It 
was  not  until  the  greater  part  of  the  work  had  been  put  to 
press,  that  the  author  found  he  had  fettered  himself  by  the 
title  of  his  volume  within  a  very  limited  range  of  selection 
from  his  miscellaneous  prose  productions.  "  Hits  at  the 
Times"  was  not  a  designation  sufficiently  comprehensive  to 
embrace  sketches  of  an  opposite  character,  which  were  far 
more  abundant,  and  would  have  swollen  the  volume  to  an 
ambitious  size.  In  one  instance  only,  has  there  been  a  de 
parture  from  the  plan;  and  for  that,  the  solicitation  of  many 
friends,  must  be  the  plea  and  the  extenuation. 

With  this  brief  preface,  these  gathered  fragments,  which 
separately  have  been  received  with  general  favour  at  the 
hands  of  the  public,  are  submitted,  in  the  hope  that  they 

will  meet  with  indulgence  in  their  present  form. 

1* 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

THE  LITTLE  FRENCHMAN  AND  HIS  WATER  LOTS,  .13 

THE  MONOPOLY  AND  THE  PEOPLE'S  LINE,  .  25 

LETTERS  FROM  THE  SPRINGS — 

LETTER  No.  1,  .  .  .  .  47 

LETTER  No.  2,     .  .  .  .  .59 

LETTER  No.  3,  .  .  .  .79 

A  LETTER  AND  A  POEM,  .  .  .  .87 

LEAVES  FROM  AN  EDITOR'S  PORTFOLIO- 
GROUNDS  FOR  A  DIVORCE,  .  .  .97 
WANT  OF  CONFIDENCE,  .  .  .  101 
EFFECTS  OF  INTERRUPTION,  .  .  .103 
THE  HUNCHBACK,  .  105 
MAJOR  NOAH,  .  .  .  .  .108 
THE  ACTORS  AND  THE  BROKERS,  .  112 
HILLSON  AND  PAUL  PRY,  .  .  .116 
ORAL  ANECDOTES  OF  WELL-KNOWN  INDIVIDUALS,  117 

MR.  BEVERLEY  LEE,  OR  THE  DAYS  or  THE  SHIN-PLAS 
TERS,      .  .  .  .  .127 


ETCHINGS. 


Page 

MONSIEUR  POOPOO  AND  HIS  CUSTOMERS,            .  .     14 

A  SCENE  AT  THE  EXCHANGE,         ,             .             .  16 

THE  PROPERTY  DELIVERED,     .             .             .  .18 

THE  WATER  PRIVILEGES,                ...  20 

No  GROUND  FOR  A  COMPLAINT,             .             .  .22 

HOMEWARD  BOUND,             ....  24 

THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN,          .             .             .  .30 

THE  NEW  TURN-OUT,        .             .             .             .  33 

THE  PONDEROUS  HANDBILL,     .             .             .  .36 

A  TAVERN  SCENE,              ....  39 

REMOVING  THE  DEPOSITES,      .             .             .  .42 
A  BONE  TO  PICK,               .             .                         .45 

THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN  IN  BLACK,      .             .  .51 

THE  TRAVELLED  DANDY,  ....  52 

LOVE'S  CONTRASTS,      .             .             .             .  .53 

A  FOREIGNER  OF  DISTINCTION,       ...  54 

VlSITERS  AT  THE  SPRINGS,           .                   .                   .  .55 

THE  FLUTING  GENTLEMAN,             ...  67 
THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  CAHAWBA  AND  THE  RED  NIGHT 
CAP,       ......  75 

THE  MINERAL  WATER  DRINKER,         .             .  .86 

CROSSING  THE  HUDSON  IN  A  MIST,              .             .  136 

A  STREET  VIEW  DURING  THE  PANIC,  .            .  .138 


THE    LITTLE    FRENCHMAN 


AND 


HIS  WATER  LOTS. 


THE    LITTLE    FRENCHMAN 


AND 


HIS  WATER  LOTS. 


Look  into  those  they  call  unfortunate, 

And,  closer  view'd,  you'll  find  they  are  unwise. —  Young. 

Let  wealth  come  in  by  comely  thrift, 
And  not  by  any  foolish  shift: 

Tis  haste 

Makes  waste : 

Who  gripes  too  hard  the  dry  and  slippery  sand 
Holds  none  at  all,  or  little,  in  his  hand.— Herrick. 

Let  well  alone.— Proverb. 


How  much  real  comfort  every  one  might  enjoy, 
if  he  would  be  contented  with  the  lot  in  which 
heaven  has  cast  him,  and  how  much  trouble  would 
be  avoided  if  people  would  only  "let  well  alone." 
A  moderate  independence,  quietly  and  honestly 
procured,  is  certainly  every  way  preferable  even  to 


14 


THE   LITTLE   FRENCHMAN 


immense  possessions  achieved  by  the  wear  and  tear 
of  mind  and  body  so  necessary  to  procure  them. 
Yet  there  are  very  few  individuals,  let  them  be 
doing  ever  so  well  in  the  world,  who  are  not  always 
straining  every  nerve  to  do  better ;  and  this  is  one 
of  the  many  causes  why  fajlures  in  business  so 
frequently  occur  among  us.  The  present  genera 
tion  seem  unwilling  to  "  realize"  by  slow  and  sure 
degrees  ;  but  choose  rather  to  set  their  whole  hopes 
upon  a  single  cast,  which  either  makes  or  mars  them 
for  ever ! 

Gentle  reader,  do  you  remember  Monsieur  Poopoo  ? 
He  used  to  keep  a  small  toy-store  in  Chatham,  near 
the  corner  of  Pearl-street.  You  must  recollect  him, 
of  course.  He  lived  there  for  many  years,  and  was 


AND    HIS    WATER   LOTS.  15 

one  of  the  most  polite  and  accommodating  of  shop 
keepers.  When  a  juvenile,  you  have  bought  tops 
and  marbles  of  him  a  thousand  times.  To  be  sure 
you  have  ;  and  seen  his  vinegar-visage  lighted  up 
with  a  smile  as  you  flung  him  the  coppers ;  and 
you  have  laughed  at  his  little  straight  queue  and 
his  dimity  breeches,  and  all  the  other  oddities  that 
made  up  the  every-day  apparel  of  my  little  French 
man.  Ah,  I  perceive  you  recollect  him  now. 

Well,  then,  there  lived  Monsieur  Poopoo  ever 
since  he  came  from  "dear,  delightful  Paris,"  as  he  was 
wont  to  call  the  city  of  his  nativity — there  he  took  in 
the  pennies  for  his  kickshaws — there  he  laid  aside 
five  thousand  dollars  against  a  rainy  day — there  he 
was  as  happy  as  a  lark — and  there,  in  all  human 
probability,  he  would  have  been  to  this  very  day, 
a  respected  and  substantial  citizen,  had  he  been 
willing  to  "  let  well  alone."  But  Monsieur  Poopoo 
had  heard  strange  stories  about  the  prodigious  rise 
in  real  estate ;  and,  having  understood  that  most  of 
his  neighbours  had  become  suddenly  rich  by  specu 
lating  in  lots,  he  instantly  grew  dissatisfied  with 
his  own  lot,  forthwith  determined  to  shut  up  shop, 
turn  everything  into  cash,  and  set  about  making 
money  in  right-down  earnest.  No  sooner  said  than 
done ;  and  our  quondam  storekeeper  a  few  days 
afterward  attended  an  extensive  sale  of  real  estate, 
at  the  Merchants'  Exchange. 


16 


THE   LITTLE   FRENCHMAN 


There  was  the  auctioneer,  with  his  beautiful  and 
inviting  lithographick  maps — all  the  lots  as  smooth 
and  square  and  enticingly  laid  out  as  possible — and 
there  were  the  speculators — and  there,  in  the  midst 
of  them,  stood  Monsieur  Poopoo. 

"  Here  they  are,  gentlemen,"  said  he  of  the  ham 
mer,  "  the  most  valuable  lots  ever  offered  for  sale. 
Give  me  a  bid  for  them  ?" 

"  One  hundred  each,"  said  a  bystander. 

"  One  hundred  !"  said  the  auctioneer,  "  scarcely 
enough  to  pay  for  the  maps.  One  hundred — going 
— and  fifty — gone  !  Mr.  H.  they  are  yours.  A  no 
ble  purchase.  You'll  sell  those  same  lots  in  less 
than  a  fortnight  for  fifty  thousand  dollars  profit !" 

Monsieur  Poopoo  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this,  and 


AND    HIS    WATER   LOTS.  17 

was  lost  in  astonishment.  This  was  a  much  easier 
way  certainly  of  accumulating  riches  than  selling 
toys  in  Chatham-street,  and  he  determined  to  buy 
and  mend  his  fortune  without  delay. 

The  auctioneer  proceeded  in  his  sale.  Other  par 
cels  were  offered  and  disposed  of,  and  all  the  pur 
chasers  were  promised  immense  advantages  for  their 
enterprise.  At  last  came  a  more  valuable  parcel 
than  all  the  rest.  The  company  pressed  around 
the  stand,  and  Monsieur  Poopoo  did  the  same. 

"  I  now  offer  you,  gentlemen,  these  magnificent 
lots,  delightfully  situated  on  Long-Island,  with  valu 
able  water  privileges.  Property  in  fee — title  in 
disputable — terms  of  sale,  cash — deeds  ready  for 
delivery  immediately  after  the  sale.  How  much  for 
them  ?  Give  them  a  start  at  something.  How 
much  ?"  The  auctioneer  looked  around ;  there  were 
no  bidders.  At  last  he  caught  the  eye  of  Monsieur 
Poopoo,  "Did  you  say  one  hundred,  sir  ?  Beau 
tiful  lots — valuable  water  privileges — shall  I  say  one 
hundred  for  you  ?" 

"  Oui,  monsieur  ;  I  will  give  you  von  hundred  dol 
lar  a  piece,  for  de  lot  vid  de  valuarble  vatare  priva- 
lege ;  Jest  $a." 

"  Only  one  hundred  a  piece  for  these  sixty  valua 
ble  lots — only  one  hundred — going — going — going — 
gone!"  ',>- 

Monsieur  Poopoo  was  the  fortunate  possessor. 


18 


THE    LITTLE    FRENCHMAN 


The  auctioneer  congratulated  him — the  sale  closed 
— and  the  company  dispersed. 

"  Pardonnez  moi,  monsieur,"  said  Poopoo,  as  the 
auctioneer  descended  his  pedestal,  "  you  shall  excusvz 
moi,  if  I  shall  go  to  votre  bureau,  your  counting-house, 
ver  quick  to  make  every  ting  sure  wid  respec  to  de 
lot  vid  de  valuarble  vatare  privalege.  Von  leetle 
bird  in  de  hand  he  vorth  two  in  de  tree,  Jest  vrai — 
eh  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir." 

"Veil  den,  allons." 

And  the  gentlemen  repaired  to  the  counting-house, 
where  the  six  thousand  dollars  were  paid,  and  the 
deeds  of  the  property  delivered.  Monsieur  Poopoo 
put  these  carefully  in  his  pocket,  and  as  he  was 
about  taking  his  leave,  the  auctioneer  made  him  a 


AND    HIS    WATER   LOTS.  19 

present  of  the  lithographick  outline  of  the  lots,  which 
was  a  very  liberal  thing  on  his  part,  considering  the 
map  was  a  beautiful  specimen  of  that  glorious  art. 
Poopoo  could  not  admire  it  sufficiently.  There  were 
his  sixty  lots,  as  uniform  as  possible,  and  his  little 
gray  eyes  sparkled  like  diamonds  as  they  wandered 
from  one  end  of  the  spacious  sheet  to  the  other. 

Poopoo's  heart  was  as  light  as  a  feather,  and  he 
snapped  his  ringers  in  the  very  wantonness  of  joy  as 
he  repaired  to  Delmonico's,  and  ordered  the  first 
good  French  dinner  that  had  gladdened  his  palate 
since  his  arrival  in  America. 

After  having  discussed  his  repast,  and  washed  it 
down  with  a  bottle  of  choice  old  claret,  he  resolved 
upon  a  visit  to  Long-Island  to  view  his  purchase. 
He  consequently  immediately  hired  a  horse  and  gig, 
crossed  the  Brooklyn  ferry,  and  drove  along  the 
margin  of  the  river  to  the  Wallabout,  the  location  in 
question. 

Our  friend,  however,  was  not  a  little  perplexed  to 
find  his  property.  Everything  on  the  map  was  as 
fair  and  even  as  possible,  while  all  the  grounds  about 
him  were  as  undulated  as  they  could  well  be  imagin 
ed,  and  there  was  an  elbow  of  the  East-river  thrust 
ing  itself  quite  into  the  ribs  of  the  land,  which  seemed 
to  have  no  business  there.  This  puzzled  the  French 
man  exceedingly ;  and,  being  a  stranger  in  those  parts, 
he  called  to  a  farmer  in  an  adjacent  field. 


20  THE    LITTLE   FRENCHMAN 


"Mon  ami,  are  you  acquaint  vid  dis  part  of  de 
country — eh  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  was  born  here,  and  know  every  inch  of 
it." 

"  Ah,  c'est  bien,  dat  vill  do,"  and  the  Frenchman 
got  oui  of  the  gig,  tied  the  horse,  and  produced  his 
lithographick  map. 

"  Den  maybe  you  vill  have  de  kindness  to  show 
me  de  sixty  lot  vich  I  have  bought,  vid  de  valuarble 
vatare  privalege  ?" 

The  farmer  glanced  his  eye  over  the  paper. 

"  Yes,  sir,  with  pleasure ;  if  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  get  into  my  boat,  I  wUl  row  you  out  to  them!" 

"  Vat  dat  you  say,  sare  f" 

"My  friend,"  said  the  farmer,  "this  section  of 


AND    HIS   WATER   LOTS.  21 

Long  Island  has  recently  been  bought  up  by  the 
speculators  of  New- York,  and  laid  out  for  a  great 
city ;  but  the  principal  street  is  only  visible  at  low 
tide.  When  this  part  of  the  East-River  is  filled  up, 
it  will  be  just  there.  Your  lots,  as  you  will  perceive, 
are  beyond  it ;  and  are  now  all  under  water. 

At  first  the  Frenchman  was  incredulous.  He 
could  not  believe  his  senses.  As  the  facts,  however, 
gradually  broke  upon  him,  he  shut  one  eye,  squinted 
obliquely  at  the  heavens — the  river — the  farmer — 
and  then  he  turned  away  and  squinted  at  them 
all  over  again  !  There  was  his  purchase  sure 
enough  ;  but  then  it  could  not  be  perceived  for 
there  was  a  river  flowing  over  it !  He  drew  a 
box  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  opened  it,  with  an 
emphatick  knock  upon  the  lid,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff 
and  restored  it  to  his  waistcoat  pocket  as  before. 
Poopoo  was  evidently  in  trouble,  having  "  thoughts 
which  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears  ;"  and,  as  his  grief 
was  also  too  big  for  words,  he  untied  his  horse, 
jumped  into  his  gig,  and  returned  to  the  auctioneer 
in  hot  haste. 

It  was  near  night  when  he  arrived  at  the  auction- 
room — his  horse  in  a  foam  and  himself  in  a  fury. 
The  auctioneer  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with 
his  legs  stuck  out  of  a  low  window,  quietly  smoking 
a  cigar  after  the  labours  of  the  day,  and  humming 
the  musick  from  the  last  new  opera. 


22 


THE   LITTLE    FRENCHMAN 


"  Monsieur,  I  have  much  plaisir  to  fin  you,  chez 
vous,  at  home." 

"  Ah,  Poopoo  !  glad  to  see  you.  Take  a  seat,  old 
boy." 

"  But  I  shall  not  take  de  seat,  sare." 

"  No — why,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Oh,  beaucoup  de  matter.  I  have  been  to  see  de 
gran  lot  vot  you  sell  me  to-day." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  hope  you  like  your  purchase  ?" 

"  No,  monsieur,  I  no  like  him*" 

"I'm  sorry  for  it ;  but  there  is  no  ground  for  your 
complaint." 

"  No,  sare  ;  dare  is  no  ground  at  all — de  ground 
is  all  vatare !" 

"You  joke!" 

"  I  no  joke.     I  nevare  joke ;  je  rfentends  pa$  la  rail- 


AND    HIS   WATER   LOTS.  23 

krie.     Sare,  voulez  was  have  de  kindness  to  give 
me  back  de  money  vot  I  pay  !" 

"  Certainly  not." 

"Den  vill  you  be  so  good  as  to  take  de  East-River 
off  de  top  of  my  lot  ?" 

"  That's  your  business,  sir,  not  mine." 

"  Den  I  make  von  mauvaise  affaire — von  gran  mis 
take!" 

"  I  hope  not.  I  don't  think  you  have  thrown  your 
money  away  in  the  land" 

"  No,  sare ;  but  I  tro  it  avay  in  de  vatare!" 

"  That's  not  my  fault." 

'•  Yes,  sare,  but  it  is  your  fault.  You're  von  ver 
gran  rascal  to  swindle  me  out  of  de  I' argent." 

"  Hollo,  old  Poopoo,  you  grow  personal ;  and  if 
you  can't  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  you  must 
go  out  of  my  counting-room." 

"  Vare  shall  I  go  to,  eh  ?" 

"  To  the  devil,  for  aught  I  care,  you  foolish  old 
Frenchman !"  said  the  auctioneer,  waxing  warm. 

"  But,  sare,  I  vill  not  go  to  de  devil  to  oblige  you !" 
replied  the  Frenchman,  waxing  warmer.  "You 
sheat  me  out  of  all  de  dollar  vot  I  make  in  Shathame- 
street ;  but  I  vill  not  go  to  de  devil  for  all  dat.  I 
vish  you  may  go  to  de  devil  yourself  you  dem  yan- 
kee-doo-dell,  and  I  vill  go  and  drown  myself,  tout  de 
suite,  right  avay." 

"  You  couldn't  make  a  better  use  of  your  water 
privileges,  old  boy !" 


24  THE   LITTLE   FRENCHMAN,    ETC. 

"  Ah,  misericorde  !  Ah,  mon  dieu,je  suis  abime.  I  am 
ruin !  I  am  done  up !  I  am  break  all  into  ten 
sousan  leetle  pieces  !  I  am  von  lame  duck,  and  I 
shall  vaddle  across  de  gran  ocean  for  Paris,  vish 
is  de  only  valuarble  vatare  privilege  dat  is  left  me 
d  present!" 

Poor  Poopoo  was  as  good  as  his  word.  He  sailed 
in  the  next  packet,  and  arrived  in  Paris  almost  as 
pennyless  as  the  day-  he  left  it. 

Should  any  one  feel  disposed  to  doubt  the  veri 
table  circumstances  here  recorded,  let  him  cross 
the  East  River  to  the  Wallabout,  and  farmer  J****** 
will  row  him  out  to  the  very  place  where  the  poor 
Frenchman's  lots  still  remain  under  water. 


THE    MONOPOLY 


AND 


THE    PEOPLE'S    LINE. 


THE     MONOPOLY 


AND 


THE    PEOPLE'S    LINE 


He  hears 


On  all  sides,  from  innumerable  tongues, 
A  dismal  universal  hiss,  the  sound 
Of  public  scorn. — Milton. 


Applause 


Waits  on  success ;  the  fickle  multitude, 

Like  the  light  straw  that  floats  along  the  stream, 

Glide  with  the  current.— Franklin. 

Two  of  a  trade  can  never  agree. — Proverb. 

THE  proprietors  of  steamboats,  rail-roads  and 
stage-coaches,  not  unfrequently  carry  the  spirit  of 
competition  to  a  ruinous  and  ridiculous  extent.  A 
few  years  ago,  we  went  to  Albany  and  were  "  found" 
for  half  a  dollar  !  and  it  is  within  the  recollection  of 
everybody  that  Gibbons,  for  a  long  period,  run  his 
boats  from  New-York  to  New-Brunswick  for  twelve 
and  a  half  cents  !  More  recently,  Mr.  Vanderbilt, 


28  THE   MONOPOLY 

a  large  capitalist,  and  doubtless  an  enterprising  man, 
with  a  view  of  breaking  down  what  has  been  deno 
minated  the  "  odious  eastern  monopoly,"  has  placed 
several  swift  and  commodious  steamers  on  the  Bos 
ton  line,  and  you  may  now  take  a  trip  from  New- 
York  to  Providence  for  the  trifling  consideration  of 
one  dollar,  lawful  currency !  Whether  the  publick 
— the  misused,  flattered,  cajoled,  long-suffering  and 
indulgent  publick — is  ultimately  benefited  by  these 
reductions  of  the  fare  to  an  inadequate  price,  or 
otherwise,  is  not  for  us  to  determine  ;  and  we,  there 
fore,  leave  the  investigation  of  the  subject,  now  and 
for  ever,  to  those  more  skilled  and  curious  in  such 
matters.  Yet  we  have  a  right  to  an  opinion;  and, 
as  this  is  certainly  a  free  country,  we  presume  no 
one  will  quarrel  with  us — if  we  keep  it  entirely  to 
ourselves.  In  a  crowded  steamer,  however,  whose 
deck  and  cabin  are  thronged  with  what  the  great 
bard  calls  "  all  sorts  of  people,"  there  is  no  more 
comfort  than  there  is  said  to  be  in  a  badly-governed 
family  of  small  innocents  and  antiquated  maiden 
ladies,  on  a  washing-day ;  when,  the  old  ballad 
tells  us,  all  is  topsy-turvy  and  most  admired  con 
fusion.  Yet  we  would  not  be  understood  as  rais 
ing  our  feeble  voice  in  defence  of  any  monopoly 
under  the  sun  ;  but  more  especially  that  of  steam 
boats.  Far  be  it  from  us.  We  are  patriots  ;  but, 
what  is  a  greater  evidence  of  our  honesty  and  dis- 


AND    THE    PEOPLE'S    LINE.  29 

interestedness,  we  have  no  stock  in  them  whatever ; 
and,  as  we  are  nothing  but  a  "  waif  upon  the  world's 
wide  common,"  or,  in  less  figurative  phraseology, 
nothing  but  a  poor  devil  of  a  weakly  editor,  we 
never  expect  to  have  any  ;  unless  our  delinquent 
subscribers  should  pay  up  their  arrearages  :  or  we 
should  draw  a  prize  in  the  lottery,  or  some  unknown 
or  unheard  of  rich  relation  should  die,  and  unex 
pectedly  shower  his  bounties  upon  us ;  or  any  other 
unimaginable,  improbable,  and  impossible  thing 
should  occur,  of  which  we  have  not  the  remotest 
conception  at  this  present  writing.  We,  therefore, 
of  course,  prefer  a  spirited  and  liberally  managed 
opposition  in  all  cases,  whenever  the  number  of 
travellers  will  warrant  such  an  arrangement ;  and 
when  mere  angry  feelings,  jealousy,  hatred,  and  all 
uncharitableness,  are  not  the  governing  motive  and 
groundwork  of  the  competition.  But  we  have  often 
noted,  that  the  great  contending  parties  have  ge 
nerally  some  concealed  motive,  some  private  end  in 
view,  and  that,  while  they  are  endeavouring,  like 
the  Hibernian  cats,  to  eat  each  other  up — "  all  up!" 
— they  profess  the  most  profound  respect  and  regard 
for  that  publick,  which,  in  the  main,  they  are  con 
stantly  striving  to  humbug  and  overreach.  The 
publick,  however,  like  a  re-publick,  is  proverbially 
ungrateful ;  and,  seeing  the  pains  that  people  take 
to  impose  upon  each  other,  it  does  not  hesitate,  in  its 

B* 


30 


THE    MONOPOLY 


turn,  to  impose  upon  everybody.    Our  reminiscences 
furnish  us  with  a  case  in  point. 

Not  many  years  ago,  there  lived  on  Long-Island, 
a  jolly,  well-to-do,  honest,  old  Dutchman,  who  drove 
a  stage  from  Brooklyn  to  Jamaica  for  two  dollars  a 
passenger.  This  had  been  the  charge  since  Adam 
was  an  urchin,  or  since  the  time  whereof  the  memory 
of  man  "  runneth  not  to  the  contrary."  It  was  sanc 
tioned  by  immemorial  usage,  and  had  all  the  crust  of 
antiquity  about  it.  Nobody  thought  of  disputing  the 
matter.  It  was  settled,  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians,  and  was  a  thing  not  to  be  sacri 
legiously  meddled  with,  or  altered  on  any  account 
whatever.  The  proprietor's  great-grandfather  had 
driven  the  same  route,  and  so  had  all  his  other  ances 
tors,  and  none  of  them  had  managed  to  realize  more 


AND    THE    PEOPLE'S    LINE.  31 

than  enough  to  make  both  ends  meet  when  Christmas 
came  round.  But  it  was  left  for  these  degenerate 
days,  and  for  modern  innovators,  to  work  wonderful 
changes  in  the  destinies  of  Jamaica,  which  was  then 
a  mere  dot  on  the  unexplored  map  of  Long-Island. 
You  might  have  held  it  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand, 
or  Major  Noah  could  have  put  it  into  his  breeches 
pocket.  It  has  assumed  vast  consequence  since 
that  period — which  was  before  the  discovery  of 
lithography,  unqestionably  the  most  magnificent  and 
imposing  art  of  modern  times — and  is  an  incorpo 
rated  city — in  embryo  ! — with  its  mayor  and  its 
aldermen — its  commodious  edifices — its  steeples, 
domes,  and  court-houses — its  spacious  taverns  and 
its  heaven-aspiring  liberty-rods,  and  all  the  other 
requisites  of  a  thriving  American  metropolis  !  If 
the  future  greatness  of  Jamaica  may  be  gathered 
from  the  thousands  of  building-lots  that  have  been 
laid  out  and  disposed  of  for  slow  notes  of  hand,  and 
if  one  may  at  all  rely  upon  the  prophecies  of  the 
eloquent  and  disinterested  speculators  of  Wall-street, 
"  who  look  into  the  seeds  of  time,  and  say  which 
place  shall  grow  and  which  shall  not,"  then  is  Ja 
maica,  without  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  predestined 
to  become  the  capital  of  the  world ! 

Oh,  Lithography !  let  me  apostrophize  thee  !  Thou 
art  indeed  a  mighty  wizard — and  hast  performed 
more  miracles  in  our  day  and  generation  than  all 


32  THE    MONOPOLY 

the  soothsayers,  seers,  and  necromancers  of  the  olden 
time !  There  is  no  obstacle  that  thou  canst  not 
overcome — no  difficulty  that  thou  canst  not  sur 
mount  !  Does  a  mountain  oppose  thy  onward  march 
— one  wave  of  thy  wand,  and  it  hides  its  diminished 
head  and  disappears  for  ever  !  Is  a  valley  too  deep 
and  broad  for  thy  lofty  purposes — another  flourish 
of  thy  potent  staff,  and  lo  !  it  is  as  level  as  the  plain  ! 
Is  a  river  inconvenient  to  ford,  and  does  it  endeavour 
to  frustrate  thy  plans,  thou  hast  but  to  will  it — and, 
presto !  its  waters  recede,  and  the  warm  and  genial 
earth,  beautifully  checkered  and  converted  into 
streets,  avenues,  spacious  squares  and  desirable 
building-lots,  remains  in  its  stead !  Thou  canst 
people  the  wilderness — for  the  woods,  like  those  of 
Birnam,  will  "  unfix  their  earth-bound  roots,"  and 
move  before  thee — and  thou  canst  command  the 
"  desert  to  bud  and  blossom  like  the  rose,"  and  it  is 
even  so  !  Thou  canst  found  settlements,  villages, 
towns,  and  cities  wherever  thou  listeth — in  the  inte- 
riour,  by  the  running  river,  the  quiet  lake,  or  on  the 
more  boisterous  borders  of  the  ocean?  'Tis  all  the 
same  to  thee,  Lithography.  Thou  canst  do  any 
thing — every  thing — all  things — on  paper  ! 

Bat  I  am  wandering  from  my  subject;  and  must 
take  care  that,  in  my  admiration  for  the  most  sub 
lime  of  all  modern  inventions — always  save  and  ex 
cepting  the  "  noble  science  of  money-making" — I  do 


AND    THE    PEOPLE'S    LINE.  33 


not  lose  the  reader  as  well  as  myself  in  the  laby 
rinths  of  imagination  and  metaphor. 

In  the  course  of  time,  travelling  increased  on  the 
Jamaica  turnpike ;  the  Dutchman  had  his  stage  full 
every  trip,  and  began  to  thrive.  But  the  star  of  his 
good  fortune,  although  it  had  risen  clear  and  un 
clouded,  was  not  long  in  the  ascendant;  for,  one 
fine  morning,  there  came  another  stage  driver,  the 
owner  of  a  new  turn  out,  as  fine  as  a  fiddle,  who  put 
in  his  claims  for  patronage. 

He  was  a  full-grown  stripling,  of  little  credit,  but 
some  ready  money,  and  he  secretly  resolved  upon 
bearing  off  the  palm  from  the  quiet,  but  covetous 
Dutchman.  At  first  he  demanded  the  usual  rates, 
and  divided  the  business  with  his  old-established 
rival ;  but  finding  that  he  had  less  custom,  that  he 


34  THE    MONOPOLY 

was  looked  upon  as  an  interloper,  and  that  all  faces 
were  set  against  him,  he  resolved  to  cut  down  the 
fare  to  a  single  dollar — :and  he  did  so,  greatly  to  the 
satisfaction  of  the  applauding  multitude. 

This  was  a  sad  blow  to  the  prospects  of  the  poor 
old  Dutchman,  whose  carriage  was  instantly  desert 
ed,  all  the  fickle  populace  instinctively  flocking  to 
the  glossy  vehicle  of  his  adversary,  who  cracked  his 
whip  in  high  glee  as  he  dashed  along  the  dusty  and 
unpaved  streets  of  Brooklyn.  At  first  Mynheer  did 
not  know  what  to  make  of  the  matter,  so  he  lighted 
his  pipe  and  looked  to  St.  Nicholas  for  the  solution 
of  a  mystery,  altogether  too  profound  for  his  com 
prehension.  One  day,  however,  a  frfend  unravelled 
it  to  him,  and  suggested  the  propriety  of  a  reduction 
also  of  his  price  ;  whereupon  the  whole  truth  flashed 
upon  him  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  and  he  instantly 
resolved  in  defiance  of  the  good  examples  of  his  fore 
fathers,  to  humble  himself  to  the  insignificant  fare  of 
his  pestilent  competitor.  Now  all  was  right  again, 
and  things  went  on  as  swimmingly  as  before,  until 
the  new-comer  again  lowered  the  fare — called  his 
omnibus  the  "  People's  Line,"  and  branded  his  op 
ponent's  "  The  Monopoly  ;"  upon  which  the  Dutch 
man  flew  into  a  violent  passion,  broke  his  pipe  into 
a  thousand  pieces,  and  swore  by  all  the  saints  in  the 
calendar,  that  he  would  thereafter  carry  his  passen 
gers  for  nothing !  And  so  strange  was  his  demeanor, 


AND   THE   PEOPLE'S   LINE.  35 

flying  hither  and  yonder  in  a  hurricane  of  hot  haste 
and  hotter  disdain,  that  all  his  neighbours  stigmatis 
ed  him  as  the  "  Flying  Dutchman ;"  a  name  which 
he  has  never  been  able  to  get  clear  of  to  this  very 
hour. 

The  "  People's  Line,"  not  in  the  least  disconcert 
ed  by  this  unexpected  calamity,  also  came  down  to 
nothing !  and  painted  on  the  panels  of  the  carriage 
the  figure  of  a  fiery  old  man  addressing  a  multitude, 
and  begging  them  to  ride  in  his  carriage  gratis,  with 
the  motto, 

"  Nothing  can  come  of  nothing ;  try  again." 

This  was  evidently  intended  as  a  hit  at  the  "  Flying 
Dutchman,"  who  retorted  by  staining  the  "  Interlo 
per,"  as  he  always  persisted  in  designating  the 
"  People's  Line,"  with  certain  Dutch  epithets,  which 
respect  for  our  readers  prevents  us  from  translating 
into  veritable  English.  Fierce  were  the  animosities 
— bitter  the  feuds — and  arduous  the  struggles  that 
ensued  between  the  belligerents.  Long  they  lasted, 
and  fatal  promised  to  be  the  consequences  to  both. 
Every  expedient  was  resorted  to ;  but  as  neither 
would  yield  an  inch  of  ground  to  the  other,  they  both 
went  on,  season  after  season,  running  the  stages  at 
their  own  expense,  and  annoying  everybody  who 
would  listen  to  them,  with  a  full  and  particular  re 
cital  of  their  wrongs,  their  wrath,  and  their  wrang- 
lings.  At  last,  the  owner  of  the  "  People's  Line," 


36 


THE    MONOPOLY 


fairly  wearied  out  by  the  obstinacy  and  perseverance 
of  the  redoubtable  Dutchman,  caused  a  mammoth 
handbill  to  be  struck  off  and  posted  from  the  East- 
River  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  in  which  he  stated,  in 
ponderous  capital  letters,  that  he  would  not  only 
carry  his  passengers  for  nothing,  but  that  he  would 
actually  pay  each  and  every  one  the  sum  of  twenty- 
five  cents  forgoing!  To  the  unhappy  Dutchman  this 
was  the  drop  too  much ;  and  it  effectually  did  the 
business  for  his  now  unpopular  and  detested  "  Mo 
nopoly,"  which  was  denounced  at  every  tavern  by 
the  road  side,  as  a  paltry,  mean,  and  "unconstitu 
tional"  concern,  while  the  "  People's  Line"  was 
lauded  to  the  third  heavens  for  its  liberality  and 
publick  spirit.  The  Flying  Dutchman  flew  no  more. 
His  spirit  was  evidently  broken  as  well  as  his  pros- 


AND    THE   PEOPLE'S    LINE.  37 

pects,  and  his  horses  crawled  daily  to  and  from 
Jamaica  at  a  snail's  pace,  equally  unmindful  of  whip 
or  rein — evidently  sympathizing  in  their  master's 
disappointment  and  discomfiture.  Yet  go  the  Dutch 
man  would — he  had  become  accustomed  to  the 
occupation — it  was  second  nature  to  him  ;  and,  as 
he  could  not  easily  overcome  the  force  of  habit,  he 
preferred  working  for  nothing  and  finding  himself,  to 
relinquishing  the  road  entirely  to  his  indefatigable 
annoyer.  "  His  shirtless  Majesty  !"  as  some  auda 
cious  poet  has  impertinently  called  the  sovereign 
people !  however,  generally  gave  its  countenance 
and  support  to  its  own  line,  which  scill  kept  up  its 
speed  and  its  reputation*  It  speaks  volumes — 
volumes,  did  I  say  ?  it  speaks  ten  thousand  libraries 
— for  the  intelligence  and  good  feeling  of  our  loco 
motive  countrymen ;  and,  as  faithful  chroniclers, 
we  are  bound  to  record  the  fact,  that  not  a  single 
individual  ever  applied  for  the  two  shillings,  that 
had  been  so  generously  and  disinterestedly  tendered, 
every  one  being  actually  contented  with  going  the 
whole  distance  gratis,  and  with  being  thanked  into 
the  bargain ! 

One  day,  however,  a  long,  thin,  lank-sided,  ma 
hogany-faced  downeaster  chanced  to  read  the  mam 
moth  bill  with  the  ponderous  capitals ;  and  without 
a  moment's  hesitation,  he  decided  upon  bestowing 
his  corporeal  substance  snugly  in  the  back  seat  of 

c 


38  THE  MONOPOLY 

the  "  People's  Line ;"  and  it  so  fell  out  that  he  was 
the  only  passenger. 

The  down-easter  was  a  talkative,  prying,  specu 
lative,  jimcrack  of  a  fellow,  who  propounded  more 
questions  in  a  single  minute  than  one  could  answer 
in  a  whole  hour ;  and,  in  less  time  than  you  could 
say  Jack  Robinson,  he  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  the 
difficulty,  and  in  possession  of  every  particular  re 
specting  the  rival  lines.  He  was  "  free  of  speech 
and  merry ;"  joked  with  the  proprietor ;  ridiculed 
the  flying  Dutchman,  called  him  a  cockalorum,  and 
finally  denounced  him  as  an  inflated,  overgrown, 
purse-proud  capitalist,  who  advocated  a  system  of 
exclusive  privileges  contrary  to  the  spirit  of  our 
glorious  institutions,  and  dangerous  to  the  liberties 
of  the  country  ? — and  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  re 
commend  that  a  town  meeting  should  be  immediately 
called  to  put  the  old  blockhead  down,  and  banish 
him  from  the  sunshine  of  the  publick  favour  forever ! 

"  I  will  put  him  down  !"  said  the  driver. 

"And  he  shall  stay^w?,  when  he  is  down!"  replied 
Jonathan,  with  an  approving  nod  of  the  head. 

At  the  various  stopping-places,  Jonathan — who 
was  not  a  member  of  any  of  the  temperance  socie 
ties,  for  those  institutions  were  not  founded  at  the 
time  of  which  we  are  writing — to  show  his  good 
fellowship,  but  with  no  other  motive,  did  not  scruple 
to  drink  sundry  villanous  bar-room  compounds,  at 


AND    THE   PEOPLE'S    LINE. 


39 


the  expense  of  his  new  acquaintance,  who,  that  day, 
was  so  overjoyed  to  find  that  the  stage  of  the  "  Mo 
nopoly"  was  compelled  to  go  the  whole  route 
entirely  empty,  that  his  hilarity  and  flow  of  boister 
ous  humour  knew  no  bounds,  and  he  snapped  his 
fingers,  and  said  he  did  not  care  a  fig  for  the  expense 
— not  he  ? 

"  Here's  to  the  People's  Line  !"  drank  Jonathan. 

"  The  People's  Line  for  ever !"  shouted  the  driver. 

"  And  confusion  to  the  Monopoly  !"  rejoined  the 
down-easter. 

"  With  all  my  heart  !"  echoed  the  friend  of  the 
people. 

"  The  Flying  Dutchman  is  deficient  in  publick 
spirit !"  said  the  landlord,  a  warlike  little  fellow, 
who  was  a  major  in  the  militia. 


40  THE    MONOPOLY 

"  Behind  the  age  we  live  in  !"  remarked  a  justice 
of  the  peace. 

61  And  he  deserves  to  run  the  gauntlet  from  Brook 
lyn  to  Jamaica  for  violating  the  constitution  !"  re 
sponded  all  the  patriotick  inmates  of  the  bar-room. 

"  I  say,  mister  !  you're  a  fine  specimen  of  a  liberal 
fellow,"  said  Jonathan,  as  his  companion  paid  the 
reckoning,  resumed  the  ribands,  and  touched  up  the 
leaders  gayly.  "  You  deserve  encouragement,  and 
you  shall  have  it.  I  promise  it  to  you,  my  lad," 
continued  he,  as  he  slapped  the  "  People's  Line"  on 
the  shoulder  like  an  old  and  familiar  friend,  "  and 
that's  enough.  The  Flying  Dutchman,  forsooth ! 
why,  he's  a  hundred  years  at  least  behind  the  grand 
march  of  improvement,  and,  as  he  will  never  be 
able  to  overtake  it,  I  shall  henceforward  look  upon 
him  as  a  mere  abstract  circumstance,  unworthy  of 
the  least  regard  or  notice." 

Jonathan  weighed  every  word  of  the  last  sentence 
before  he  pronounced  it,  for  he  was,  upon  the  whole, 
rather  a  cute  chap,  and  had  no  notion  of  letting  his 
friendship  for  the  one  party  involve  him  in  a  law-suit 
for  a  libel  on  the  other. 

The  overjoyed  proprietor  thanked  him  heartily  for 
his  good  wishes,  and  for  the  expression  of  his  con 
tempt  for  the  old  "  Monopoly,"  and  the  lumbering 
vehicle  thundered  on  toward  Jamaica. 

Arrived,  at  last,  at  the  termination  of  the  journey, 


AND    THE   PEOPLE'S    LINE.  41 

the  driver  unharnassed  the  horses,  watered  them, 
and  put  them  up  for  the  night.  When  he  turned  to 
take  his  own  departure,  however,  he  observed  that 
Jonathan,  who,  after  all  said  and  done,  candour 
compels  us  to  acknowledge,  had  rather  a  hang-dog 
sort  of  look,  seemed  fidgetty  and  discontented ;  that 
he  lingered  about  the  stable,  and  followed  him  like 
a  shadow  wherever  he  bent  his  steps. 

"  Do  you  stop  in  this  town,  or  do  you  go  further  ?" 
asked  the  driver. 

"  I  shall  go  further,  when  you  settle  the  trifle  you 
owe  me,"  replied  Jonathan,  with  a  peculiar,  knowing, 
but  serious  expression. 

"  That  I  owe  you?" 

"  Yes — is  there  not  something  between  us  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Why,  mister,  what  a  short  memory  you've  got 
— you  should  study  mnemonicks,  to  put  you  in  mind 
of  your  engagements." 

"  What  do  you  mean  f  There  must  be  some 
mistake  !" 

"  Oh  !  but  there's  no  mistake  at  all,"  said  Jona 
than,  as  he  pulled  a  handbill  from  his  pocket,  un 
folded  it  with  care,  and  smoothed  it  out  upon  the 
table.  It  was  the  identical  mammoth  handbill  with 
the  ponderous  capitals. 

"  That's  what  I  mean.  Look  there,  Mr.  People's 
Line.  There  I  have  you,  large  as  life — and  no 


42 


THE   MONOPOLY 


S 

ttl 


mistake  whatever.  That's  your  note  of  hand — it's 
a  fair  business  transaction — and  I  will  trouble  you 
for  the  twenty-five  cents,  in  less  than  no  time ;  so 
shell  it  out,  you  'tarnal  crittur." 

"  My  Christian  friend,  allow  me  to  explain,  if  you 
please.  I  confess  that  it's  in  the  bill ;  but,  bless 
your  simple  soul,  nobody  ever  thinks  of  asking  me 
for  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  !"  ejaculated  Jonathan.  "  Now, 
that's  what  I  call  cutting  it  a  leetle  too  fat !  but  it's 
nothing  to  me.  I  attend  to  nobody's  affairs  but  my 
own  ;  and  if  other  people  are  such  ninnyhammers 
as  to  forgive  you  the  debt,  that's  no  reason  why  I 
should  follow  their  bad  example.  Here  are  your 
conditions,  and  I  want  the  mopuses.  A  pretty  piece 


AND    THE   PEOPLE'S    LINE.  43 

of  business,  truly,  to  endeavour  to  do  your  customers 
out  of  their  just  and  legal  demands  in  this  manner. 
But  I  can't  afford  to  lose  the  amount,  and  I  won't ! 
— What !  haven't  I  freely  given  you  my  patronage 
— liberally  bestowed  upon  you  the  pleasure  of  my 
company,  and,  consequently,  afforded  you  a  triumph 
over  that  narrow-contracted  '  Monopoly  ?'  and"  now 
you  refuse  to  comply  with  your  terms  of  travel,  and 
pay  me  my  money,  you  ungrateful  varmint,  you  ! 
Come,  mister,  it's  no  use  putting  words  together  in 
this  way.  I'll  expose  you  to  '  old  Monopoly'  and 
everybody  else,  if  you  don't  book-up  like  an  honest 
fellow  ;  and  I  won't  leave  the  town  until  I  am 
satisfied." 

"  You  won't  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  serious  ?" 

"  Guess  you'll  find  I  am." 

"  And  you  will  have  the  money  ?" 

"  As  sure  as  you  stand  there." 

"  What,  the  twenty-five  cents  ?" 

"  Every  fraction  of  it." 

"  And  you  won't  go  away  without  it  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  stay  here  till  doomsday  :  and  you  know 
the  consequence  of  detaining  me  against  my  will." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

"  I'll  swinge  you,  you  pyson  sarpent,  you  !" 

"  You'll  what  ?" 


44  THE    MONOPOLY 

"  I'll  sue  you  for  damages." 

"  You  will  f" 

"  Yes ;  I'll  law  you  to  death,  sooner  than  be  de 
frauded  out  of  my  property  in  this  manner  ;  so,  down 
with  the  dust,  and  no  more  grumbling  about  it." 

The  bewildered  and  crest-fallen  proprietor,  per 
ceiving  from  Jonathan's  tone  and  manner,  that  all 
remonstrance  would  be  in  vain,  and  that  he  was 
irrevocably  fixed  in  his  determination  to  extract 
twenty-five  cents  from  his  already  exhausted  coffers, 
at  length  slowly  and  reluctantly  put  into  his  hand 
the  bit  of  silver  coin  representing  that  amount  of  the 
circulating  medium. 

Jonathan,  we  blush  to  say,  took  the  money,  and 
what  is  more,  he  put  it  into  his  pocket ;  and,  what 
is  moreover,  he  positively  buttoned  it  up,  as  if  to 
"  make  assurance  double  sure."  and  to  guard  it 
against  the  possibility  of  escape. 

"  Mister,"  said  he,  after  he  had  gone  coolly  through 
the  ceremony,  looking  all  the  while  as  innocently  as 
a  man  who  has  just  performed  a  virtuous  action  ; 
1  'mister,  I  say,  you  must  not  think  that  I  set  any 
more  value  on  the  insignificant  trifle  you  have  paid 
me,  than  any  other  gentleman :  a  twenty-five  cent 
piece,  after  all,  is  hardly  worth  disputing  about — 
it's  only  a  quarter  of  a  dollar — which  any  industrious 
person  may  earn  in  half  an  hour,  if  he  chooses — the 
merest  trifle  in  the  world — a  poor  little  scoundrel  of  a 


AND   THE   PEOPLE'S   LINE.  45 

coin,  that  I  would  not,  under  other  circumstances, 
touch  with  a  pair  of  tongs — and  which  I  would  scorn 
to  take  even  now — if  it  were  not  for  the  principle  of  the 
thing  !  To  show  you,  however,  that  I  entertain  a  high 
respect  for  the  "  People's  Line,"  that  I  wish  old  cocka 
lorum  to  the  devil,  and  that  I  do  not  harbour  the 
slightest  ill-will  toward  you  for  so  unjustifiably  with 
holding  my  legal  demands,  the  next  time  I  come  this 
way  again,  I  will  unquestionably  give  your  stage  the 
preference — unlessthe  "Flying  Dutchman"  holdsout 
greater  inducements  than  you  do,  in  which  case,  I 
rather  calculate,  I  shall  feel  myself  in  duty  bound  to 
encourage  him!" 

Since  the  veritable  circumstances  here  related, 
the  Jamaica  rail-road  has  entirely  superseded  the 
necessity  of  both  the  "  Monopoly"  and  the  "  People's 
Line"  of  stages,  and  their  publick-spirited  proprie 
tors,  after  making  a  prodigious  noise  in  the  world, 
have  retired  under  the  shade  of  their  laurels,  deep 
into  the  recesses  of  private  life.  There  we  shall 
leave  them,  to  enjoy  whatever  satisfaction  may  be 
gathered  from  the  proud  consolation  of  having  ex 
pended  every  farthing  they  were  worth  in  the  world, 
for  the  gratification  of  a  publick  that  has  long  ago 
forgotten  they  ever  existed ! 


SKETCHES  FROM  THE  SPRINGS. 


LETTER    ONE. 


SKETCHES  FROM  THE  SPRINGS. 
LETTER  I. 


Full  oft  have  letters  caused  the  writers 

To  curse  the  day  they  were  inditers.— Hudibras. 

These  things  "from  rumour's  tongue 


—    xucoo  iiimga       uwui  lumuui  »  luiiguc 

I  idly  heard;  if  true,  or  false,  I  know  not."— Shakspeare. 

SARATOGA  SPRINGS,  July  22,  1838. 
DEAR  THEODORE — The  jaunt  from  Albany  to  Sa 
ratoga,  over  the  rail-road,  can  now  be  accomplished 
in  less  than  three  hours,  and  the  consequence  is  that, 
even  at  this  early  season,  nearly  all  the  hotels  and 
board-houses  in  the  village  are  thronged  with  visitors. 
There  cannot  be  less  than  three  thousand  strangers 
here  at  the  present  time,  and  every  car  is  constantly 
adding  to  the  number.  Congress-hall  is,  as  formerly, 
the  resort  of  the  light-hearted,  the  gay,  the  idle, 
and  the  fashionable  ;  but  those  who  come  to  partake 
of  the  life-giving  waters,  generally  repair  to  more 
congenial  and  quiet  abodes.  To  those  disposed  to 
be  busy,  there  is  no  lack  of  employment.  What  with 
eating  and  drinking,  walking  and  riding,  gunning 
and  fishing,  dancing  and  flirting — balls,  concerts, 

D 


50  SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 

and  parties — dressing  for  this,  that,  and  the  other, 
and  similar  suitable,  and  equally  profitable  occupa 
tions,  time  is  disposed  of  without  the  least  difficulty. 
Every  thing  is  calculated  to  beguile  one  of  pensive 
thoughts,  and  occasionally  there  is  an  entertain 
ment  of  no  ordinary  description.  The  other  even 
ing,  for  instance,  we  had  a  musical  soiree,  in  which 
that  sweet  song-bird,  Miss  Hughes,  assisted  by 
Charles  Horn,  Sinclair,  and  other  professional  persons 
took  part.  The  large  room  of  the  United  States 
hotel  was  occupied  by  an  audience  resembling  those 
which  attended  the  Cooper  and  Dunlap  festivals. 
All  the  performers  were  in  fine  spirits,  and  sung  and 
played  delightfully.  The  "  Young  Cavalier,"  the 
"Mermaid's  Cave,"  and  "  Auld  Robin  Gray,"  in 
particular,  were  given  by  Miss  Hughes  in  her  own 
impressive  manner,  and  are  now  remembered  as 
"  faded  strains  that  float  upon  the  mind  like  half- 
forgotten  dreams."  This  young  lady  never  looked 
more  lovely,  nor  warbled  her  melodies  with  more 
effect. 

Gossip,  scandal,  and  killing  character,  are  consi 
dered  innocent  pastime  at  Saratoga.  I  am  writing 
this  at  a  window  that  overlooks  the  piazza  of  Con 
gress-hall.  The  weather  is  pleasant — the  "  shades 
of  evening  thicken  slowly,"  and  the  tide  of  fashion 
is  flowing  beneath  me  like  the  waves  of  the  sea.  I 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE    SPRINGS. 


have  been  told  the  history  and  condition  of  nume 
rous  individuals,  and,  for  want  of  better  materials, 
and  in  compliance  with  the  universal  custom  of  all 
periodical  letter-writers,  I  will  point  out  a  few  of  the 
most  conspicuous  for  your  especial  diversion. 

First,  we  have  a  whole  platoon  of  gentlemen  with 
canes,  most  of  whom  have  been  the  subjects  of  much 
enviable  conversation  lately.  Johnson  says  that  "  a 
person  who  carries  a  cane  has  generally  an  upper 
story  to  let !"  The  doctor  was  undoubtedly  a  very 
great  man  and  a  close  observer  of  human  nature. 
His  opinions,  with  me,  have  all  the  sanction  of  law 
authority. 

You  perceive  that  stout  gentlemen  in  black  ?  He 
is  an  epicure,  and  does  little  else  than  eat,  the  live- 


52  SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 

'rrC* 

i 


.( 


-J_  -j-i-    Q "I---  -._ 


long  day.  He  made  a  voyage  to  London  last  year 
expressly  for  the  purpose  of  enjoying  a  dish  of  soles 
with  shrimp  sauce  !  and  has  come  to  the  springs 
now  to  put  his  digestive  apparatus  in  good  order, 
before  the  ensuing  season  of  plum-puddings,  buck 
wheat-cakes  and  mince-pies,  three  prime  articles,  of 
which  he  professes  to  be  exceedingly  fond,  and  of 
which  he  is  supposed,  about  the  holidays,  to  destroy  a 
most  inordinate  quantity.  He  plays  the  best  knife 
and  fork  in  the  village,  and  is  the  admiration  of  all 
the  gourmands  at  the  south.  Move  on,  old  FalstafF! 
Room  for  a  travelled  dandy — a  fellow  who  went 
abroad  a  puppy,  and  returned  "  the  same  old  two 
and  six  pence" — nothing  added  to  his  former  stock 
of  information,  except  the  cut  of  his  garments,  a 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS.  53 


short-napped  hat,  and  that  pair  of  enormous  whiskers 
— in  all  of  which  he  "  reigns  and  revels  !" 

Yonder  floats  a  little  man,  with  a  little  stick,  a 
little  pair  of  gloves,  and  a  little  voice.  He  is  en 
gaged  to  that  enormously  fat  young  widow  beside  him , 
whose  fortune  is  estimated  at  sixty  thousand  dollars. 
The  little  man  is  not  worth  a  groat,  and  is  the  very 
antipodes  of  his  dulcinea  ;  but  you  know, 

"  Tn  joining  contrasts  lieth  love's  delight." 

Here  comes  a  foreigner  of  distinction — a  duke  ! 
Mark  his  princely  air  and  noble  carriage.  Observe 
the  diamond  hoop  upon  his  little  finger,  and  the 
circling  hair  upon  his  upper  lip  !  Is  he  not  a  mag 
nificent  specimen  of  the  "  paragon  of  animals  ?"  For 


54  SKETCHES  FROM   THE   SPRINGS. 


the  last  six  hours  he  has  been  the  "  observed  of  all 
observers,"  the  presiding  genius  of  the  place,  and 
his  flirtation  with  a  certain  meek,  blue-eyed  quak- 
eress,  at  the  Union,  who,  for  his  dear  sake,  is  in 
imminent  danger  of  being  read  out  of  meeting,  has 
created  the  first  positive  sensation  of  the  season. 
The  duke  is  reported  to  be  immensely  rich — the  lady 
is  known  to  be  so. 

"  The  form  of  Hercules  affects  the  sylphs." 


But  who  is  that  mild,  intellectual-looking  being, 
languishing  in  the  shade  ?     She  is  leaning  upon  the 

arm  of  General ,  and  talking  to  Chancellor . 

That  lady,  I  mean,  attired  in  the  plain  white  dress, 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 


55 


with  her  hair  modestly  parted  on  her  forehead — 
she  of  the  smiling  lip  and  speaking  eye — 

"  That  looks  not  like  the  inhabitants  o'  the  earth, 
And  yet  is  on't." 

Oh,  I  see — Miss .     I  should  have  known  her 

among  ten  thousand,  for  she  is  an  ornament  to  her 
sex  and  country. 

What  a  contrast  she  presents  to  the  proud,  haughty 
belle  in  her  train,  half  buried  beneath  the  weight 
of  gold  and  jewels  ! 

"Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes." 

Heavens,  how  she  tosses  her  pretty  head,  and  gives 
the  nod  of  recognition  to  those  around  her! 

"  The  wealth  of  worlds  is  heaped  on  her  in  vain." 


56  SKETCHES   PROM   THE   SPRINGS. 

Lady,  for  all  your  smiles  and  winning  ways,  I  do 
not  envy  the  poor  youth  who  wears  your  chains  ; 
they  are  woven  of  any  thing  but  flowers.  She  has 
the  riches  of  Croesus,  the  beauty  of  Hebe — but  the 
temper  of  Xantippe.  Yet  mind ,  dear  Theodore,  I  tell 
you  this  in  confidence,  so  don't  let  it  go  any  further. 

But  what  have  we  next  ?  generals  and  judges, 
and  public  characters  by  the  score  !  A  whole  bevy 
of  widows,  old  maids,  and  solitary  spinsters,  without 
any  particular  claim  to  distinction. 

A  sudden  pause  in  the  crowd.  Several  carriages 
with  their  out-riders  have  rolled  up  to  the  door, 
emblazoned  with  the  crests  of  the  nobility  of  this 
democratic  land  !  I  cannot  admire  the  horses 
sufficiently ;  but  as  for  those  who  have  just  alight 
ed — the  "  least  said  the  soonest  mended." 

The  bell  rings  for  supper — so,  ladies  and  gentle 
men,  by  your  leave. 

Is  it  not  strange  that  the  very  things  to  which 
this  village  is  indebted  for  all  its  consequence, 
are  most  neglected  ?  The  hotels  are  spacious — the 
accommodations  convenient,  and  the  attendance  un 
exceptionable  ;  but  the  springs  themselves  are  in  a 
shocking  condition.  Instead  of  splendid  colonnades, 
attractive  apartments,  spacious  pump-rooms,  marble 
counters,  sparkling  fountains,  and  neat,  well-dressed 
women  to  attend  the  visiters,  as  in  other  coun- 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS.  57 

tries,  you  are  compelled  to  stand  ankle-deep  in  the 
mud,  or  upon  a  miserable  platform,  constructed  over 
a  filthy  brook,  and  receive  the  water  from  a  bare 
footed,  meanly-clad  juvenile,  who  dips  it  up  in  an 
unclean  vessel,  and  flings  it  at  you  with  a  sleight  of 
hand  peculiarly  his  own.  In  stead  of  taking  the 
water  as  an  inviting,  health-restoring  beverage,  you 
seize  the  glass  with  a  wry  face  and  an  involuntary 
shudder,  and  drain  its  contents  with  the  same 
repugnance  you  entertain  for  nauseous  medicine. 
On  rainy  days,  invalids  cannot  go  to  the  springs, 
unless  they  are  satisfied  to  have  the  outer  as  well  as 
inner  man,  most  thoroughly  drenched,  as  there  is  no 
friendly  covering  to  shield  them  from  the  weather. 
Really  this  is  too  bad,  for  the  most  fashionable 
watering-place  in  America. 


f 

SKETCHES  FROM  THE  SPRINGS. 


LETTER    TWO. 


SKETCHES  FROM  THE  SPRINGS. 
LETTER  II. 


--  The  million  flit  as  gay 

As  if  created  only  like  the  fly 

That  spreads  his  motley  wings  in  th'  eye  of  noon, 

To  sport  their  season,  and  be  seen  no  more.— 


Admire,  exalt,  despise,  laugh,  weep—  for  here 

There  is  such  matter  for  all  feeling—  Man, 

Thou  pendulum  betwixt  a  smile  and  tear.  —  Byron. 

Nature  hath  framed  strange  fellows  in  her  time.  —  Shakspearc. 


CONGRESS-HALL,  SARATOGA,  July  1833. 

DEAR  THEODORE — The  tides  of  fashion,  like  those 
of  the  sea,  are  constantly  in  motion  :  no  sooner  does 
one  wave  recede  than  another  advances  ;  and  so 
at  the  Springs,  as  one  carriage  passes  away  with 
its  light-hearted  occupants,  another  arrives  at  the 
gate  ;  and  there  stands  mine  host  of  the  Congress, 
ever  ready  to 

*'  Welcome  the  coming — speed  the  parting  guest." 
E 


62  SKETCHES   FROM   THE   SPRINGS. 

The  hasty  farewell  is  scarcely  spoken,  before  the 
"  new  arrival"  engrosses  all  the  attention  ;  and  your 
mineral-water  companion  of  yesterday  vanishes 
from  your  memory,  to  make  room  for  some  new 
acquaintance  of  to-day,  who,  in  his  turn,  is  also 
doomed  to  mingle  with  the  misty  recollections  of 
the  past,  and,  in  a  brief  period,  to  be  forgotten  for 
ever.  Friendships  formed  here  are  fleeting  and 
evanescent.  Excitement  is  the  grand  object  of  pur 
suit  ;  and  how  can  people  be  so  unreasonable  as  to 
expect  those  to  feel,  who  never  have  leisure  to  think? 

Nearly  every  house  in  the  village  is  overflowing, 
and  visitors  are  still  coming.  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  give  you  a  particular  description  of  all  the  indi 
viduals  I  have  encountered  here  ;  and  for  ten  thou 
sand  reasons,  three  of  which,  however,  will  suffice  at 
the  present  time.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  no  idea 
of  manufacturing  a  book  of  travels  during  this  hot 
weather.  In  the  second ,  (mark  what  an  eye  I  have 
for  business,)  most  of  the  people  here  are  subscribers 
to  the  Mirror,  and  I  never  take  any  liberties  with 
them,  you  know.  And  "  lastly,  and  to  conclude," 
those  who  are  not  subscribers,  (if  any  such  there 
be  !)  cannot  be  supposed  worthy  of  either  the  time 
or 'the  trouble.  Yet,  dear  Theodore,  if  you  will 
take  a  chair  with  me  in  the  drawing-room,  (you 
had  a  glimpse  at  the  piazza  in  my  last,)  I  will  point 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS.  63 

out  a  few  characters  from  among  the  company  here 
assembled,  and  tell  you  all  I  know  about  them. 
This  may  amuse  you  till  the  bell  rings.  Come,  we 
will  say  nothing  to  wound  the  feelings  of  any  body ; 
for  scandal,  I  am  aware,  is  your  abhorrence;  yet 
it  is  very  fashionable  at  most  watering-places,  and 
I  have  heard  sufficient  here  to  last  me  the  rest  of 
my  life-time. 

You  observe  that  mild,  matronly-looking  lady, 
near  the  window^  yonder  ?  Is  she  not  a  pattern  of 
neatness  and  propriety  ?  Her  story  must  be  an  in 
teresting  one,  and  not  destitute  of  a  moral.  I  wish 
I  knew  it  all.  I  remember  her  from  my  boyhood,  and 
shall  never  forget  her  looks  one  fine  Sunday  morn 
ing,  as  she  entered  Trinity  church,  leaning  on  the 

arm  of  poor  .     I  never  saw  any  thing  more 

beautiful  than  she,  at  that  moment,  appeared  to  my 
inexperienced  eyes  ;  all  my  after  dreams  of  female 
loveliness  were  associated  with  her.  I  could  not 
imagine  a  being  more  perfect ;  but  I  was  very  young 
then,  and  she  was  engaged  to  be  married.  I  saw 
her  again,  after  I  had  grown  to  be  a  man  ;  but  oh, 

how  altered  !     She  was  still  single.     and  she 

had  some  misunderstanding,  and  he  had  gone  to 

England,  and  died  there,  I  think told  me..    I 

never  heard  any  further  particulars.  Still  she  was 
much  admired  for  her  beauty,  and  beloved  for  her 
gentleness  ;  and,  as  she  was  immensely  rich,  must 


(34  SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 

have  had  opportunities  enough  of  forming  what 
is  generally  understood,  a  "  convenient  alliance ;" 
for  men,  or  I  am  much  mistaken,  were  as  wordly- 
given  formerly  as  now.  I  never  saw  her  afterward, 
until  we  met  the  other  day  at  these  Springs.  There 
are  more  old  maids  in  the  world  than  remain  so  from 
necessity. 

"  No  American  should  wish  to  trace  his  ancestry 
further  back  than  the  revolutionary  war,"  says 
a  recent  writer.  I  admire  this  sentiment.  Yet, 
while  I  disapprove,  most  heartily,  of  the  conceit 
ed  airs  and  flimsy  pretensions  which  certain  little 
people  arrogate  to  themselves  on  account  of  their 
birth-right,  I  cannot  subscribe  to  one  particle  of  the 
cant  I  am  in  the  habit  of  hearing  expressed  on  these 
subjects.  It  is  not  "  the  same  thing,"  to  me,  at  least, 
whether  my  father  was  a  count  or  a  coal-heaver,  a 
prince  or  a  pickpocket.  I  would  have  all  my  rela 
tions,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  goodnand  respec 
table  people,  and  should  prefer  the  blood  of  the 
Howards  to  that  of  the  convicts  of  Botany  Bay — 
nor  do  I  believe  I  am  at  all  singular  in  these  parti 
culars.  It  is  nothing  more  than  a  natural  feeling. 
Still  I  would  not  think  ill  of  a  man  on  account  of 
any  misfortune  that  may  have  attended  his  birth, 
nor  well  of  a  man  simply  because  he  happened  to 
be  cradled  in  the  lap  of  affluence  and  pride.  The 


SKETCHES    FROM   THE   SPRINGS.  55 

first  may  be  one  of  nature's  noblemen,  and  the  other  a 
poor  creature,  notwithstanding  all  his  splendour;  and 
that  this  frequently  happens,  every  day's  experience 
affords  us  abundant  testimony.  That  the  claims  of 
all  to  distinction  should  rest  upon  one's  own  indivi 
dual  talents,  deportment,  and  character,  is  also  sound 
doctrine,  and  cannot  be  disputed :  yet  this  is  no 
reason  why  we  should  not  have  an  honest  and  be 
coming  pride  in  the  genius,  integrity,  or  gallant 
bearing  of  those  from  whom  we  sprung.  Now, 
yonder  stands  a  gentleman,  who,  in  my  humble 
judgment,  cannot  but  indulge  a  secret  glow  of  satis 
faction,  while  contemplating  the  roots  of  his  family 
tree.  He  came  from  a  good  stock — the  old  Dutch 
settlers  of  New-Amsterdam — than  which  no  blood 
that  flows  in  the  human  veins  is  either  purer,  better, 
or  braver.  His  forefathers  were  eminently  con 
spicuous  as  Christians,  soldiers,  and  sages ;  they 
occupied  the  high  places  of  honour  and  authority — 
were  the  ornaments  of  their  day  and  generation ; 
and,  notwithstanding  the  shade  of  ridicule  which  a 
popular  writer  has  cast  around  and  interwoven  with 
their  history,  their  memories  will  ever  be  cherished 
until  virtue  ceases  to  be  an  attribute  of  the  human 
mind.  The  public-spirit  of  this  gentleman  and  his 
liberal  views  have  long  been  the  theme  of  universal 
praise  ;  and  although  I  have  not  his  personal  ac 
quaintance,  I  know  he  must  be  a  gentleman — the 


56  SKETCHES    FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 

mild  and  benignant  expression  of  his  face — his 
unassuming  habits — his  bland  and  courteous  de 
meanour,  all  bespeak  it ;  and,  to  use  the  language  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  are  unto  him  "  letters  of  recom 
mendation  throughout  the  world." 

That  gentleman  is  one  of  the  few  Americans  who 
combine  a  literary  taste  with  indefatigable  business 
habits.  Had  he  devoted  his  life  to  letters  instead 
of  merchandise,  he  would  have  been  conspicuous 
among  the  most  gifted  of  his  countrymen.  I  heard 
him  deliver  an  address  once,  remarkable  for  the 
beauty  of  its  style  and  the  soundness  of  its  doctrines. 

But  this  is  a  money-making  land  ;  and  Mr. , 

like  Halleck,  Wetmore,  Sprague,  Strong  and  others, 
has  found  the  counting-house  more  profitable  than 
the  muses'  temple — his  account-book  more  certain 
than  all  books  besides — and  bank-notes  the  very  best 
notes  in  the  universe. 

Young is  famous  for  his  flute,  his  dog,  and 

the  number  of  his  servants.  He  never  travels  with 
out  half  a  dozen.  One  he  dresses  in  livery,  and  has 
him  always  within  calling  distance.  He  plays  the 
German  flute  with  great  unction,  and  with  a  most 
determined  air,  and  keeps  an  enormous  dog,  of  a 
very  peculiar  breed,  constantly  at  his  heels.  He 
lodges  at  hotel,  near  the  top  of  the  house— 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 


67 


that  apartment  having  been  assigned  him  on  account 
of  his  musical  propensities — he  not  wishing  to  be 
interrupted  in  his  studies,  and  the  landlord  desiring 
to  have  the  neighbourhood  disturbed  as  little  as  pos 
sible  by  his  eternal  noise.  He  is  the  horror  of  the 
surrounding  country ;  and  complaints  have  frequently 
been  lodged  against  him  for  annoying  quiet,  well- 
disposed  citizens  throughout  the  day,  and  keeping 
them  awake  during  most  of  the  night.  Wherever  he 
goes  he  pays  double  board,  as  all  fluting  gentlemen 
undoubtedly  ought  to  do,  and  therefore  enjoys  a  kind 
of  privilege  to  blow  away  as  loud  and  as  often  as  he 
thinks  proper.  His  man  in  livery  answers  his  bell, 
which  is  everlastingly  going.  At  the  first  stroke  of 
the  hammer  away  runs  John,  and  away  runs  the 


63  SKETCHES  FROM   THE   SPRINGS. 

dog  close  behind  him.  It  is  curious  to  see  these 
two  worthies  hurrying  up  stairs,  and  the  exhibition 
never  fails  to  create  a  laugh  throughout  the  building, 
which,  however  amusing  to  the  spectators,  is  a  source 
of  the  deepest  mortification  and  chagrin  to  poor 
John,  who  is  the  butt  of  all  his  associates  in  the 
kitchen  on  this  account.  John  has  long  looked  upon 
himself  as  an  injured  and  most  unfortunate  man,  and 
once  summoned  sufficient  resolution  to  remonstrate 
with  his  master  upon  his  grievances — telling  him, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  in  a  heart-rending  man 
ner,  that  if  the  dog  was  not  discharged,  he  should 
be  compelled,  however  reluctantly,  and  notwith 
standing  the  high  wages,  to  look  out  for  another 
situation,  as  it  was  quite  impossible  to  say,  when 
the  bell  rung,  which  was  wanted,  the  dog  or  himself. 
It  is  entirely  out  of  the  question  to  describe  the  in 
dignation  of  Monsieur  Flute,  on  hearing  this  com 
plaint.  At  first  he  turned  all  the  colours  of  the 
rainbow — then  arose  from  his  seat,  eyed  his  rebel 
lious  valet  from  head  to  foot,  and  tried  to  give  vent 
to  his  passion  in  a  stream  of  words  ;  but,  finding  the 
effort  vain,  he  promptly  kicked  him  out  of  the  room, 
and  commanded  him  from  his  presence  forever  ! 
John,  however,  is  a  prudent  fellow,  and  knows  the 
value  of  a  good  place  and  high  wages,  or,  to  use  his 
own  phrase,  "  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered" — 
so  he  concluded  to  retain  his  place,  in  defiance  of 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS.  gQ 

the  laugh  and  the  kicking,  and  still  remains  in  his 
former  service,  and  is  still  followed  by  that  ever 
lasting  dog.  Now,  young is  a  nuisance,  and 

so  are  his  servants,  and  so  are  all  private  servants  at 
public  hotels.  During  meals,  they  are  always  in  the 
way.  You  are  liable  to  mistake  them  for  the  regular 
waiters  of  the  house,  and  issue  your  orders  accord 
ingly.  These  they  refuse  to  obey,  of  course.  This 
is  provoking.  Then  they  seize  upon  all  the  choice 
dishes  on  the  table,  to  convey  them  to  their  masters, 
who  sit  gormandizing  while  your  plate  is  empty,  and 
the  dinner  is  getting  cold.  This  is  monstrous.  Then 
the  man  with  a  servant  sometimes  gives  himself  airs 
to  the  man  without  a  servant.  This  is  intolerable. 
I  have  heard  of  one  or  two  duels  on  account  of 
private  servants,  and  therefore  I  repeat,  they  are  a 
nuisance  in  a  moral  point  of  view,  and  ought  to  be 
abated. 

There  is  a  knot  of  politicians — the  "  great  here 
after"  and  his  distinguished  colleagues,  whom  I 
must  not  mention,  for  fear  of  entering  the  dreaded 
arena  of  politics — near  them  are  descendants  of 
Carroll,  Clinton,  Tompkins,  and  other  renowned 
men, 

"  Whose  names  are  with  their  country's  woven;" 

and  the  room  is  filling  with  beauties,  belles  and 
beaux  of  all  descriptions.     The  gentleman  in  a  drab 


70  SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 

coat,  is  quite  a  famous  fellow  here — a  member  of 
the  temperance  societies — temperate  in  every  thing 
but  water,  of  which  he  drinks  twenty  tumblers  every 
morning  before  breakfast  at  the  Congress  Spring,  and 
has  done  so  for  the  last  six  summers.  He  is  a  firm 
believer  in  its  efficacy — delivers  long  orations  on  the 
subject  to  any  person  who  will  listen  to  him — pulls 
every  new  comer  by  the  button,  as  soon  as  he  enters 
the  premises,  and  is  known  and  avoided  by  the  name 
of  the  "Water  King."  That  little  girl  in  black, 
who  snaps  her  fingers  at  the  slender  buck  in  whis 
kers,  has  refused  six  offers  of  marriage  within  the 
last  twelve  days.  She  is  certainly  a  bewitching 
creature,  and  often  puts  me  in  mind  of  Clara  Fisher 
in  the  Country  Girl. 

Ah,  ha  !  my  little  Frenchman  !  That  fellow  is  a 
character.  I  will  tell  you  a  story  about  him.  I 
stopped  at  West  Point,  not  long  since,  and  found 
the  hotel  crowded  with  visitors.  It  was  late  in  the 
evening  when  I  arrived,  and  being  almost  worn  out 
with  the  fatigue  of  my  journey,  for  I  had  been  the 
inmate  of  stage-coaches,  railroad-cars,  and  canal- 
boats  without  closing  my  eyes  for  the  last  two  days,  I 
repaired,  with  all  convenient  haste,  to  the  solitary- 
couch  that  had  been  assigned  me  in  the  basement- 
story,  in  the  hope  of  passing  a  few  comfortable  hours 
in  the  "  arms  of  Morpheus ;"  but  one  glance  at  the 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS.  71 

"  blue  chamber  below,"  convinced  me  of  the  utter 
folly  of  any  such  expectation.  I  found  it  nearly 
crammed  with  my  fellow-lodgers,  who,  if  I  might 
judge  from  the  melancholy  display  of  hats,  boots, 
socks,  and  other  articles  of  wearing  apparel,  scat 
tered  over  the  floor,  in  most  "  admired  disorder," 
had  evidently  retired  with  unbecoming  eagerness  to 
secure  their  places  to  themselves,  and  thereby  guard 
them  against  the  possibility  of  intrusion  from  others  ; 
doubtless  believing,  that  in  this,  as  well  as  in  similar 
cases,  possession  is  nine  points  in  the  law.  As  the 
apartment  was  very  confined,  and  all  the  inhabitants 
wide  awake,  I  thought  I  might  as  well  spend  an 
hour  or  two  in  the  open  air  before  going  to  bed,  and 
was  about  to  retire  for  that  purpose,  when  a  voice 
called,  "  If  you  do  not  wish  to  lose  your  berth,  you 
had  better  turn  in."  Observing  that  nearly  all  the 
cots,  sofas,  settees,  chairs,  etc.,  were  occupied,  and 
hearing  that  several  of  my  fellow-passengers  were 
sleeping  on  the  house  top  and  in  the  halls,  I  deemed 
it  prudent  to  follow  the  advice  just  given  me,  so 
at  once  commenced  disrobing,  and  was  soon  stowed 
away  in  a  snug  corner,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I 
found  myself  gradually  and  imperceptibly  sinking 
under  the  power  of  the  gentle  god.  I  began  to  con 
gratulate  myself — to  commiserate  the  unhappy  con 
dition  of  my  less  fortunate  companions,  and  to  bid 
good  night  to  all  my  cares,  when  that  short,  thin, 


72  SKETCHES   FROM   THE   SPRINGS. 

merry  little  Frenchman  came  dancing  into  the  room, 
and,  after  cutting  a  pigeon-wing  or  two,  humming  a 
passage  from  a  favourite  opera,  and  skipping  once 
or  twice  around  the  vacant  beds,  sat  himself  upon 
the  most  commodious,  with  the  exclamation,  "  Ah 
ha !  I  find  him — this  is  him — number  ten,  magni- 
fique  !  Now  I  shall  get  some  leetle  sleeps  at  last." 
Again  humming  a  part  of  a  tune,  he  proceeded  to 
prepare  himself  for  bed.  After  divesting  himself 
of  his  apparel,  and  carefully  depositing  his  trinkets 
and  watch  under  his  pillow,  he  fastened  a  red  ban 
danna  handkerchief  around  his  head,  and  slid  be 
neath  the  counterpane,  as  gay  and  lively  as  a  cricket. 
"  It  is  superb,"  he  once  more  exclaimed  aloud ;  "  I 
have  not  had  some  rest  for  six  dozen  days,  certaine- 
ment — and  now  I  shall  have  some  leetle  sleeps.  But, 
waiter,"  bawled  he,  suddenly  recollecting  himself. 
John  came  at  the  call.  "  What  is  it  o'clock,  eh  ?" 

"  Nearly  ten,  sir." 

"  What  time  de  boat  arrive  f" 

"  About  two." 

"  When  he  do  come,  you  shall  wake  me  some 
leetle  minute  before  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  shall  get  some  of  de  champaign  and 
oystare  all  ready  for  my  suppare  f" 

"  Very  well,  sir.    You  may  depend  upon  me,  sir," 
said  John,  as  he  shut  the  door,  and  made  his  exit. 


SKETCHES    FROM   THE    SPRINGS.  73 

"  Ah,  tres  bien,  and  now  for  de  leetle  sleeps." 
Uttering  which,  he  threw  himself  upon  the  pillow, 
and,  in  a  few  seconds,  was  in  a  delightful  doze. 

The  foregoing  manoeuvres  and  conversation  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  all,  and  aroused  me  com 
pletely. 

"  Confound  that  Frenchman  !"  growled  a  bluff  old 
fellow  next  him,  as  he  turned  on  the  other  side,  and 
went  to  sleep. 

Most  of  the  other  gentlemen,  however,  raised  their 
heads  for  a  moment,  to  see  what  was  going  on,  and 
then  deposited  them  as  before,  in  silenl  resignation. 
But  one  individual,  with  more  nerves  than  fortitude, 
bounced  out  of  bed,  dressed  himself  in  a  passion, 
swore  there  was  no  such  thing  as  sleeping  there,  and 
went  out  of  the  room  in  a  huff.  This  exploit  had 
an  electric  effect  upon  the  melancholy  spectators, 
and  a  general  laugh,  which  awoke  all  the  basement 
story,  was  the  result.  For  some  minutes  afterward 
the  merriment  was  truly  appalling.  Jokes,  mingled 
with  complaints,  were  heard  in  every  direction,  and 
the  uproar  soon  became  universal.  Silence,  how 
ever,  was  at  length  restored  ;  but  all  symptoms  of 
repose  had  vanished  with  the  delusion  that  gave  them 
birth.  The  poor  Frenchman,  however,  whose  slum 
bers  had  been  sadly  broken  by  the  nervous  man, 
had  turned  himself  upside  down,  and  had  actually 
gone  to  sleep  once  more  !  He  began  to  breathe  hard, 


74  SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS. 

and,  finally,  to  snore — and  such  a  snore  ! — it  was 
enough  to  have  awakened  the  dead !  There  was  no 
such  thing  as  standing  that.  The  equanimity  of  his 
immediate  neighbour — a  drowsy  fellow,  who,  on  first 
lying  down,  said  he  was  resolved  to  "  sleep  in  spite 
of  thunder" — was  the  first  to  give  way.  He  sprang 
bolt  upright,  hastily  clapt  both  hands  over  his  ears, 
and  called  out,  at  the  top  of  his  compass,  for  the 
Frenchman  to  discontinue  "that  diabolical  and  dread 
ful  noise."  Up  jumped  the  red  nightcap,  rubbing 
its  eyes  in  mute  astonishment.  After  hearing  the 
heavy  charge  against  it,  with  "  a  countenance  more 
-in  sorrow  than  in  anger,"  and  making  ever}^  apology 
in  its  power  for  the  unintentional  outrage  it  had  com 
mitted,  down  it  sunk  once  more  upon  the  pillow, 
and  glided  away  into  the  land  of  Nod.  But  new 
annoyances  awaited  my  poor  Frenchman ;  for  scarce 
ly  had  this  event  happened,  when  the  door  was  flung 
open,  and  in  came  a  gentleman  from  Cahawba,  with 
a  fierce-looking  broad-brimmed  hat  upon  his  peri 
cranium,  that  attracted  general  attention,  and  struck 
awe  and  consternation  to  the  hearts  of  all  beholders. 
He  straddled  himself  into  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
thrust  both  hands  into  his  breeches  pockets,  pressed 
his  lips  firmly  together,  and  cast  his  eyes  deliberately 
around  the  apartment,  with  the  expression  of  one 
who  intended  to  insist  upon  his  rights. 

"  Which  is  number  ten  .?"  he  demanded,  in  a  tone 


SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS.  75 


which  startled  all  the  tenants  of  the  basement  story. 
"Ah,  I  perceive!"  continued  he,  approaching  the 
Frenchman,  and  laying  violent  hands  upon  him. 
"  There's  some  mistake  here.  A  man  in  my  bed,  hey  ? 
Well,  let  us  see  what  he's  made  of.  Look  here, 
stranger,  you're  in  the  wrong  box  !  You've  tumbled 
into  my  bed — so  you  must  shift  your  quarters." 

Who  shah1  depict  the  Frenchman's  countenance, 
as  he  slowly  raised  his  head,  half  opened  his  drooping 
organs  of  vision,  and  took  an  oblique  squint  at  the 
gentleman  from  Cahawba ! 

"  You  are  in  the  wrong  bed,"  repeated  he  of  the 
hat — "  number  ten  is  my  property ;  yonder  is  yours, 
so  have  the  politeness  just  to  hop  out." 

The  Frenchman  was  resigned  to  his  fate,  and 
gathering  himself  together,  transported  his  mortal 


76  SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS. 

remains  to  the  vacant  bed,  without  the  slightest  re 
sistance,  and  in  eloquent  silence.  It  was  very  evident 
to  him,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us,  that  there  was  no 
withstanding  the  persuasions  of  his  new  acquaint 
ance,  who  had  a  fist  like  a  mallet,  and  who  swore 
that  he  always  carried  loaded  pistols  in  his  pocket, 
to  be  ready  for  any  emergency.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  basement  would  have  screamed  outright  this 
time,  but  for  prudential  considerations,  for  the  gen 
tleman  from  Cahawba  realized  the  description  of 
the  "  determined  dog,"  mentioned  in  the  comedy, 
who  "  lived  next  door  to  a  churchyard,  killed  a  man 
a  day,  and  buried  his  own  dead."  Was  this,  then, 
a  man  to  be  trifled  with  ?  Certainly  not.  Better  to 
cram  the  sheets  down  your  throat,  and  run  the  risk 
of  suffocation  from  suppressed  laughter,  than  to  en 
counter  the  displeasure  of  a  person  who  wears  such 
a  hat.  They  are  always  to  be  avoided. 

But  to  return  to  the  Frenchman.  He  was  no 
sooner  in  his  new  resting-place,  than  John  came  to 
inform  him  that  his  champaign  and  oysters  were 
ready.  Like  one  in  a  dream  he  arose,  sat  upon  the 
side  of  the  bed,  and  slowly  dressed  himself,  without 
a  single  murmur  at  his  great  disappointment.  He 
had  hardly  finished,  when  the  steamboat  bell  sound 
ed  among  the  highlands,  and  he  received  the  grati 
fying  intelligence,  that  in  consequence  of  the  time 
he  had  lost  in  dressing,  he  had  none  left  to  eat  his 


SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS.  77 

supper — and  that,  if  he  did  not  hurry,  he  would  be 
too  late  for  the  boat !  At  this,  he  arose — yawned — 
stretched  his  person  out  at  full  length,  and,  with  the 
ejaculation — "  I  shall  get  some  leetle  sleeps  nevare" 
— bid  us  good-night,  and  slowly  took  his  leave. 


SKETCHES  FROM  THE  SPRINGS. 


LETTER    THREE. 


SKETCHES  FROM  THE  SPRINGS. 
LETTER   III. 


I  drank— I  liked  it  not. — Prior. 

Care  is  no  cure,  but  rather  corrosive 

For  things  that  are  not  to  be  remedied. —  Shakspeare. 

I  shall  the  effect  of  this  good  lesson  keep 
As  watchman  to  my  heart. — Shakspeare. 


SARATOGA,  August,  1833. 

EARLY  rising,  active  exercise,  country  air,  and 
the  Congress  Spring  have  done,  are  doing,  and  will 
continue  to  do  wonders  for  invalids.  They  are  all 
excellent  in  their  way  ;  but  to  produce  a  beneficial 
effect  upon  weak  nerves  and  debilitated  constitutions, 
they  must  be  enjoyed  in  moderation.  Nothing  is 
more  true  than  that  all  excess  is  hurtful ;  and  no 
thing,  one  would  suppose,  is  more  self-evident :  yet 
many  people  in  delicate  health  go  to  Saratoga 
under  the  impression,  it  would  seem,  that  the  more 
water  they  drink,  the  faster  they  will  get  well. — 


g2  SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS. 

Some  of  the  visitors  are  in  the  habit  of  swallowing 
fifteen,  twenty,  thirty,  and  even  forty  glasses  every 
morning  before  breakfast !  The  result  of  such  im 
prudence  can,  of  course,  be  easily  foreseen.  Instead 
of  getting  the  better  of  their  several  complaints,  they 
daily  grow  worse,  and  are  not  unfrequently  compel 
led  to  abandon  the  use  of  the  waters  altogether,  for 
want  of  proper  caution  in  the  first  instance.  The 
resident  physician  at  the  Springs,  as  every  body 
knows,  is  an  able  practitioner,  a  man  of  science,  and 
a  well-bred  gentleman.  We  were  seated  one  morning, 
during  the  present  season,  in  his  study,  when  an 
individual  knocked  at  the  door,  and  immediately 
gained  admittance.  He  was  a  large,  fat,  unwieldy 
piece  of  humanity  from  the  south,  with  a  face  like 
the  full  moon  just  rising,  arid  had  the  appearance  of 
one  "  who  could  kill  an  ox  with  his  fist,  and  pick  his 
teeth  with  its  horns."  But,  alas  !  appearances  are 
deceitful ;  my  man  mountain  was  sadly  out  of  re 
pair,  and  could  do  no  such  thing.  A  chronic. affection 
of  his  stomach  embittered  all  his  days,  and  his  doc 
tor  had  sent  him  to  the  Springs  for  relief.  Every 
other  remedy  had  been  tried,  but  to  little  or  no  pur 
pose.  The  waters  then  were  his  only  reliance,  his 
last  resort.  If  they  failed  him,  his  case  was  hope 
less — his  disease  incurable.  Accordingly,  on  his 
arrival,  he  had  taken  to  hard  drink,  like  a  brave 
fellow  ;  but  finding,  to  his  unutterable  astonishment 


SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS.  §3 

and  confusion,  after  a  whole  week's  melancholy 
experience,  that  the  mineral  fluids  had  done  him  an 
infinite  deal  of  mischief,  and  not  the  least  discernible 
good,  he  had  now  repaired  to  the  apartment  of  the 
resident  physician,  entirely  out  of  humour  with  the 
waters,  himself,  and  all  the  world  besides,  and  in 
utter  despair.  No  wonder,  then,  that  he  was  angry, 
or  that  he  should  frown  indignantly  on  coming  into 
the  presence  of  the  learned  professor  of  the  healing 
art.  Placing  his  cane  against  the  wall,  in  a  firm 
and  decided  manner,  and  tossing  his  hat  upon  the 
table  with  a  peculiar  emphasis,  he  threw  himself 
into  a  chair  with  a  thumping  whack  ;  then  taking 
a  blue  and  white  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  he 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  face,  crossed  his 
legs,  folded  his  arms,  compressed  his  lips,  and  eyed 
the  doctor  from  head  to  foot,  with  mingled  feelings 
of  scorn  and  indignation. 

"  So,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  you're  a  doctor,  are 
you  ?" 

"  At  your  service,  sir.    May  I  ask  who  you  are  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  I  am  a  man  that  has  come  six 
hundred  miles,  like  a  blockhead,  in  compliance  with 
the  advice  of  a  quack-doctor,  to  drink  your  infer 
nal  waters — and  they've  made  me  worse — that's 
who  I  am.  Now,  what  do  you  say  to  that,  hey  ?" 

"  Why,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  his  usual  good 
nature,  and  without  allowing  himself  to  be  disturbed 


84  SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS. 

in  the  least,  by  the  abrupt  deportment  of  his  new 
acquaintance,'  "why,  my  friend,  that  I  am  very  sorry 
for  it.  But  what's  the  matter  with  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  I'm  in  pain  all  over." 

"  Indeed  ;  what  are  your  symptoms  ?" 

"  I've  every  symptom  you  ever  heard  of." 

"  That's  bad." 

"  Bad  !"  said  the  man  with  a  stomach,  "  it's  in 
fernal — it's  diabolical — it  will  be  the  death  of  me  !" 

"  In  pain  all  over,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes,  all  over,  I  tell  you  1" 

"  Any  pain  in  your  foot  ?" 

44  Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  as  to  that,"  said  the 
gentleman  from  the  south,  evidently  drawing  in  his 
horns. 

"  If  you  had  any  there,  would  you  not  be  likely 
to  know  it  ?"  pursued  the  doctor,  mildly. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  should." 

"  Then,  you  have  no  pain  in  your  foot  ?" 

"  Why,  no." 

44  Then,  what  do  you  mean  by  pain  all  over  ?" 

The  patient  would  have  explained  ;  but  the  doc 
tor  went  on  with  his  professional  cross-examination. 

"  And  how  many  tumblers  of  water  do  you  drink 
a  day?" 

44  Why,  I  began  moderately.  When  I  first  came 
I  only  took  eight ;  but  I  have  increased  the  quantity 
every-day,  and,  this  morning  I  got  down  thirty-two." 


SKETCHES    FROM    THE    SPRINGS.  35 

"  Thirty-two  ?".  repeated  the  doctor,  coolly,  but 
with  evident  surprise.  "  Only  thirty-two  ?  Then 
permit  me,  my  friend,  to  remark  that  you  have  not 
taken " 

The  man  from  the  south  interrupted  him — he 
would  hear  no  more — he  thought  the  doctor  was  go 
ing  to  tell  him  he  had  not  taken  half  enough — and 
the  idea  made  him  shudder. 

"Now  stop,  doctor;  stop,  I  beseech  you.  That's 
all  very  true,  what  you're  going  to  say.  I  know  it. 
If  I  must  die,  I  must ;  but  I  can't  drink  more  than 
thirty-two  tumblers,  any  way  under  heavens — nor 
will  I  attempt  it,  happen  what  may !" 

It  is  unnecessary  to  give  the  remainder  of  the 
dialogue.  The  reader  has  sufficient  to  show  him 
with  what  views  some  people  visit  the  Springs,  and 
how  little  they  know  of  the  properties  and  effects  of 
the  waters.  This,  however,  is  only  one  of  a  thousand 
similar  instances.  The  invalid  in  question — for  such 
he  really  was,  notwithstanding  his  enormous  bulk 
and  jolly  round  physiognomy — was  soon  convinced 
of  the  absolute  absurdity  of  the  course  he  had  been 
pursuing;  and,  after  listening  to  a  little  salutary  ad 
vice,  which,  we  make  no  doubt,  will  be  of  service 
to  him  during  the  remainder  of  his  life,  took  his 
leave,  with  the  resolution  to  become  a  more  tem 
perate  man  in  future.  We  saw  him  again,  about  a 
fortnight  after  the  conversation  here  recorded,  and 

G 


86 


SKETCHES   FROM  THE   SPRINGS. 


were  gratified  to  learn,  that,  by  following  a  few 
simple  directions,  his  "  pain  all  over"  had  entirely 
disappeared,  and  that  he  was  a  new  creature,  or,  to 
use  his  own  expression,  "  as  good  as  new."  He 
looked  the  picture  of  perfect  health,  and  said  he  felt 
as  well  as  he  looked. 

"  Then  you  have  changed  your  opinion  of  the 
waters  ?" 

"  Entirely.  They  have  acted  upon  me  like  a 
charm.  But  no  man  should  touch  them,  until  he 
has  first  received  the  advice  and  directions  of  some 
competent  physician." 

"  True,  and  this  simple  fact  it  would  do  no  harm 
for  all  to  bear  in  mind  who  visit  the  Springs." 


A  LETTER   AND  A   POEM 


LETTER   TO   HENRY   RUSSELL. 


He  turned  him  from  the  spot — his  home  no  more, 
For  without  hearts  there  is  no  home; — and  felt 
The  solitude  of  passing  his  own  door 
Without  a  welcome. — Byron. 


NEW- YORK,  February  1,  1837. 

My  DEAR  SIR — You  did  me  the  honour  to  request 
some  lines  of  mine  for  musick  ;  and,  at  the  moment, 
being  delighted  with  your  fine  voice  and  exquisite 
taste  in  singing,  I  said  I  would  write  you  a  song. 
Now,  I  think  with  the  author  of  the  Hunchback,  that 
a  promise  given,  when  it  can  be  kept,  admits  not  of 
release,  "  save  by  consent  or  forfeiture  of  those  who 
hold  it,"  and  I  have  been  as  good  as  my  word,  as  you 
will  perceive  by  the  enclosure  of  "  The  Woodman." 

G* 


90  A  LETTER. 

I  hope  it  will  answer  your  purpose.  Let  me  tell  you 
how  I  came  to  choose  an  old  tree  for  my  subject. 
Riding  out  of  town  a  Jfcv  days  since,  in  company 
with  a  friend,  who  was  once  the  expectant  heir  of 
the  largest  estate  in  America,  but  over  whose  worldly 
prospects  a  blight  has  recently  come,  he  invited  me 
to  turn  down  a  little  romantick  woodland  pass  not 
far  from  Bloomingdale. 

"  Your  object  ?"  inquired  I. 

"  Merely  to  look  once  more  at  an  old  tree  planted 
by  my  grandfather,  near  a  cottage  that  was  once  my 
father's." 

"  The  place  is  yours  then  ?"  said  I. 

"  No,  my  poor  mother  sold  it ;"  and  I  observed  a 
slight  quiver  of  the  lip,  at  the  recollection  of  that  cir 
cumstance.  "  Dear  mother  !"  resumed  my  compan 
ion,  "  we  passed  many  happy,  happy  days,  in  that 
old  cottage  ;  but  it  is  nothing  to  me  now — father, 
mother,  sisters,  cottage — all,  all,  gone  ;"  and  a  pale 
ness  overspread  his  fine  countenance,  and  a  moisture 
came  to  his  eyes  as  he  spoke.  But  after  a  moment's 
pause,  he  added,  "  Don't  think  me  foolish ;  I  don't 
know  how  it  is,  I  never  ride  out  but  I  turn  down 
this  lane  to  look  at  that  old  tree.  I  have  a  thousand 
recollections  about  it,  and  I  always  greet  it  as  a  fa 
miliar  and  well-remembered  friend.  In  the  by-gone 
summer-time  it  was  a  friend  indeed.  I  often  listened 
to  the  good  counsel  of  my  parents  there,  and  I  have 


A  LETTER.  91 

had  such  gambols  with  my  sisters  !  Its  leaves  are 
all  off  now,  so  you  won't  see  it  to  half  its  advantage, 
for  it  is  a  glorious  old  fell^fci  summer ;  but  I  like  it 
full  as  well  in  very  winrer^ time."  These  words 
were  scarcely  uttered,  when  my  companion  cried 
out,  "  There  it  is  !"  and  he  sprang  from  his  saddle 
and  ran  toward  it.  I  soon  overtook  him,  wondering 
at  his  haste ;  but  what  met  my  sight,  made  it  no 
wonder.  Near  the  tree  stood  an  old  man  with  his 
coat  off,  sharpening  an  axe.  He  was  the  occupant 
of  the  cottage. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?" 

"  What's  that  to  you,"  was  the  reply. 

"  A  little  matter,  but  not  much — you're  not  going 
to  cut  that  tree  down  surely  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  though,"  said  the  woodman. 

"  What  for,"  inquired  my  companion,  almost 
choked  with  emotion. 

"  What  for?  why,  because  I  think  proper  to  do 
so.  What  for?  I  like  that!  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what 
for  ;  this  tree  makes  my  dwelling  unhealthy  ;  it 
stands  too  near  the  house  ;  prevents  the  moisture 
from  exhaling,  and  renders  us  liable  to  fever-and- 
ague." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?" 

"  Dr.  Smith." 

"  Have  you  any  other  reason  for  wishing  to  cut  it 
down  ?" 


92  A   LETTER. 

"  Yes,  I  am  getting  old,  the  woods  are  a  great  way 
off,  and  this  tree  is  of  some  value  to  me  to  burn." 

He  was  soon  convij^^k  however,  that  the  story 
about  the  fever-and-ague  was  a  mere  fiction,  for  there 
never  had  been  a  case  of  that  disease  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  ;  and  then  was  asked  what  the  tree  was 
worth  for  firewood  ? 

"  Why,  when  it  is  down  about  ten  dollars." 

"  Suppose  I  should  give  you  that  sum,  would  you 
let  it  stand  ?" 

"  Yes." 
,  "  You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"  Positive." 

"  Then  give  me  a  bond  to  that  effect." 

I  drew  it  up  ;  it  was  witnessed  by  his  daughter, 
the  money  was  paid,  and  we  left  the  place,  with  an 
assurance  from  the  young  girl,  who  looked  as  smiling 
and  beautiful  as  a  Hebe,  that  the  tree  should  stand 
as  long  as  she  lived.  We  returned  to  the  turnpike, 
and  pursued  our  ride.  These  circumstances  made 
a  strong  impression  upon  my  mind,  and  furnished 
me  with  the  materials  for  the  song  I  send  you.  I 
hope  you  will  like  it,  and  pardon  this  long  and 
hurried  letter.  With  sentiments  of  respect,  I  remain 
yours  very  cordially, 

GEO.  P.  MOURIS. 
HENRY  RUSSELL,  ESQ. 


THE   OAK.  93 

WOODMAN,  spare  that  tree  ! 

Touch  not  ^fcgle  bough  ! 
In  youth  it  she^ffed  me, 

And  I'll  protect  it  now. 
'Twas  my  forefather's  hand 

That  placed  it  near  his  cot ; 
There,  woodman  let  it  stand, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not ! 

That  old  familiar  tree, 

Whose  glory  and  renown 
Are  spread  o'er  land  and  sea, 

And  wouldst  thou  hack  it  down  ? 
Woodman,  forbear  thy  stroke ! 

Cut  not  its  earth-bound  ties  ; 
Oh,  spare  that  aged  oak, 

Now  towering  to  the  skies ! 

When  but  an  idle  boy 

I  sought  its  grateful  shade  ; 
In  all  their  gushing  joy 

Here  too  my  sisters  played. 
My  mother  kiss'd  me  here  ; 

My  father  pressed  my  hand — 
Forgive  this  foolish  tear, 

But  let  that  old  oak  stand  ! 


94  THE   OAK. 


My  heart-strings  round  thee  cling, 

Close  as  thy  bark,  old  friend  ! 
Here  shall  J^L wild-bird  sing, 

And  stilly  branches  bend. 
Old  tree  !  the  storm  still  brave  ! 

And,  woodman,  leave  the  spot ; 
While  I've  a  hand  to  save, 

Thy  axe  shall  harm  it  not. 


LEAVES 


FROM 


AN  EDITOR'S  PORTFOLIO. 


t,  I  • 


LEAVES   FROM  A   PORTFOLIO 


'A  thing  of  shreds  and  patches."— Shakspeare. 


GROUNDS     FOR    A    DIVORCE. 

"  And  Love — which,  on  their  bridal  eve, 

Had  promised  long  to  stay — 
Forgot  his  promise— took  French  leave, 
And  bore  his  lamp  away." — Halleck. 

CHARLES  T was  married  a  few  years  ago. 

He  was  a  happy  man.  His  business  was  a  thriving 
one,  and  he  snapped  his  fingers,  and'saiahe  did  not 
care  a  fig  for  the  presidents,  cashiers  an*  directors 
of  all  the  banks  in  Christendom,  for  he  owed  them 
nothing ;  and  was  not  obliged  to  bow,  and  stoop,  and 
cringe  to  them  for  a  discount,  as  many  do  now-a- 
days,  until  it  is  quite  impossible  to  stand  erect  in 
the  presence  of  an  honest  man.  He  had  a  house  in 
Broadway,  near  the  Bowling-Green,  and  lived  more 
like  a  nabob  than  well  becomes  a  decent  republican 


98  LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

in  this  democratick  country.  His  wife  had  been  a 
belle  and  a  beauty  ;  but,  like  many  others  of  her  sex, 
she  had  a  will  of  her  Qwn,  which  she  did  not  lay 
aside  with  her  bridal  garments.  Everybody  envied 
Charles  his  good  fortune.  Matters  went  on  swim 
mingly.  Charles  was  a  high  fellow — fond  of  his 
friends — fond  of  his  horses — fond  of  his  dogs — and 
fond  of  having  his  way  in  everything.  He  liked 
company — frequently  gave  parties  at  his  own  house, 
and  attended  balls,  routs  and  soirees  at  those  of  his 
neighbours.  He  was,  in  short,  a  fine,  gay,  dashing 
spark — full  of  health  and  spirits,  and  in  the  very 
bloom  of  life.  Yet,  with  all  his  good  qualities, 
Charles  T had  one  fault,  which  his  wife  en 
deavoured  in  vain  to  correct.  He  would  occasion 
ally  stay  out  until  midnight ;  and,  whenever  this 

occurred,  Mrs.  T met  him  at  the  threshold 

of  his   own  door,  with   chidings    and   complaints. 

Now,  Mr.  T had  a  touch   of  Gloster's  condi- 

tjlPr'whipR"  could  not  brook  the  spirit  of  reproof;" 
solhat  thefcourse  his  wife  took  to  remedy  the  defect 
in  his  character,  only  made  matters  worse — and  dis 
content  and  family  bickerings  were  the  result ;  fre 
quent  wranglings  followed,  and  an  open  rupture 
finally  ensued  ;  consequently,  in  process  of  time, 
both  husband  and  wife  grew  heartily  tired  of  each 
other.  One  day  a  grand  entertainment  was  given  at 
the  Astor  house,  in  honour  of  a  distinguished  sen- 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.  99 

ator.     Charles  T ,  of  course  attended.     The 

dinner  was  excellent — the  speeches  eloquent — the 
wines  sparkling,  and  the  company  even  more  spark 
ling  than  the  wine.  Charles  did  not  go  home  that 
night  at  all,  but  arrived  at  his  own  door  just  as  St. 
Paul's  clock  struck  the  hour  of  four.  The  morning 
was  drear  and  cold.  Not  a  light  was  to  be'  seen — 
not  a  footstep  to  be  heard — the  watchmen  were 
turned  in  and  the  gas-lamps  were  turned  out ;  and, 
more  dismal  still,  the  door  of  Mr.  T 's  dwel 
ling  was  locked  !  This  had  never  happened  before  ; 
and  Charles's  patriotism  gave  way  to  his  petulance. 
He  pulled  most  lustily  at  the  bell — he  broke  the 
wire — he  dashed  the  handle  on  the  pavement ;  but 
no  one  answered  his  summons.  He  addressed  him 
self  to  the  knocker — rap,  rap,  r-a-p,  and  repeated  ; 
r-a-p,  r — a — p,  r-r-a-a-p-p,  and  again  repeated  ; 
but  all  in  vain.  The  inmates  were  either  asleep,  or 
dead — it  was  not  certain  which  ;  but  it  was  certain 
that  no  one  came  to  his  relief.  It  was  striking  five 
o'clock ;  and  an  old  dunghill  cock,  in  an  adjacent 
stable,  had  k<  thrice  done  salutation  to  the  dawn." 
The  musical  timepiece,  on  the  marble  mantel  in  the 
front  room  of  his  own  house,  was  playing  the  popu 
lar  air  of  "  How  brightly  breaks  the  morning" — but 
no  friendly  hand  withdrew  the  bolt  that  kept  him 
from  his  bed.  This  was  too  bad.  Rap,  rap,  rap, 
went  the  knocker  once  more,  and  louder  than  ever. 


100  LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

Up  flew  the  windows  of  almost  every  house  in  the 
neighbourhood,  except  his  own — and  out  shot  various 
night-caps  and  bandanas  to  inquire  what  the  dense 
was  the  matter  ?  Charles  endeavoured  to  explain, 
when,  with  a  bitter  reproof  for  disturbing  people  in 
their  virtuous  beds,  and  for  waking  them  out  of  their 
innocent  sleep  at  such  unreasonable  hours,  down 
went  the  sashes,  and — presto  ! — the  night-caps  and 
bandanas  disappeared  in  less  time  than  }^ou  could  say 
Jack  Robinson !  Charles  wras  boiling  over  with  rage. 
He  tried  the  window-shutters,  the  cellar-door,- and  the 
grate  to  the  coal-vault,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Finally, 
a  thought  struck  him,  and  he  resolved  to  scale  the  gar 
den-  wall.  He  repaired  to  the  rear  of  the  house  with 
that  intention.  While  clambering  over  the  bricks, 
he  was  arrested  by  one  of  the  guardians  of  the  night, 
who  had  awakened  from  a  delicious  nap,  just  in  the 
nick  of  time  to  seize  him  by  the  leg  and  bear  him 
away  to  the  watch-house.  Here  he  remained  until 
day-break,  when  he  was  dismissed  by  Mr.  Justice 
Lownds,  with  an  admonition  to  keep  better  hours  in 
future  !  How  the  lady  explained  the  matter — how 
it  happened  that  none  of  the  household  heard  the 
bell  and  knocker — and  why  a  night-latch  was  added 
soon  after  to  the  front-door,  are  matters  that  we 
know  nothing  about;  and,  if  we  did,  they  are  .not 
worth  recording  here.  We  pass  over  these  and  other 
uninteresting  particulars  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  and 


LEAVES   FROM   A  PORTFOLIO.  1Q1 

leave  the  reader  to  account  for  a  mysterious  adver 
tisement  which  has  recently  been  published  in  the 
Albany  Argus,  wherein  it  is  set  forth  that  a  certain 
very  ill-used  lady  claims  to  be  divorced  from  her 
husband,  on  the  grounds  that  he  is  given  to  late  hours 
and  bad  company  ! 


WANT    OF    CONFIDENCE. 

A  little  Frenchman  loaned  a  merchant  five  thou 
sand  dollars  when  the  times  were  good.  He  called 
at  the  counting-house  a  few  days  since,  in  a  state  of 
agitation  not  easily  described. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  inquired  the  merchant. 

"  Sick — ver  sick,"  replied  monsieur. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  De  times  is  de  matter." 

"  Betimes? — what  disease  is  that  ?" 

"  De  malaide  vat  break  all  de  marchants,  ver 
much." 

"  Ah — the  times,  eh  ? — well,  they  are  bad,  very 
bad,  sure  enough  ;  but  how  do  they  affect  you  f" 

"  Vy,  monsieur,  I  lose  de  confidance." 

"In  whom?" 

"  In  everybody." 

"  Not  in  me,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Pardonriez  moi,  monsieur ;  but  I  do  not  know 
H* 


102  LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

who  to  trust  a  present,  when  all  de  marchants  break 
several  times,  all  to  pieces." 

"  Then  I  presume  you  want  your  money  ?" 

"  Oui,  monsieur,  I  starve  for  want  of  V  argent" 

"  Can't  you  do  without  it  ?" 

"  No,  monsieur,  I  must  have  him." 

"  You  must  ?" 

"  Oui,  monsieur,"  said  little  dimity  breeches, 
turning  pale  with  apprehension  for  the  safety  of  his 
money. 

"  And  you  can't  do  without  it  ?" 

"•  No,  monsieur,  not  von  other  leetle  moment 
kmgare." 

The  merchant  reached  his  bank  book — drew  a 
check  on  the  good  old  Chemical  for  the  amount,  and 
handed  it  to  his  visiter. 

"Vat  is  dis,  monsieur?" 

"  A  check  for  five  thousand  dollars,  with  the  in 
terest." 

"Is  it  bonf"  said  the  Frenchman,  with  amaze 
ment. 

"  Certainly." 

"  Have  you  de  V argent  in  de  bank  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  it  is  parfaiternent  convenient  to  pay  de 
sum?" 

"  Undoubtedly.     What  astonishes  you  ?" 

"  Vy,  dat  you  have  got  him  in  dees  times." 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.      1Q3 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  I  have  plenty  more.  I  owe  no 
thing  that  I  cannot  pay  at  a  moment's  notice." 

The  Frenchman  was  perplexed. 

"  Monsieur,  you  shall  do  me  one  leetle  favour,  eh  ?" 

"With  all  my  heart." 

"  Veil,  monsieur,  you  shall  keep  del1  argent  for  me 
some  leetle  year  longer."  * 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  wanted  it." 

"  Tout  au  contrairc.  I  no  vant  de  V argent — I  vant 
de  grand  confidance.  Suppose  you  no  got  de  money, 
den  I  vant  him  ver  much — suppose  you  got  him,  den 
I  no  vant  him  at  all.  Vous  comprenez,  eh  f" 

After  some  further  conference,  the  little  French 
man  prevailed  upon  the  merchant  to  retain  the  mo 
ney,  and  left  the  counting-house  with  a  light  heart 
and  a  countenance  very  different  from  the  one  he 
wore  when  he  entered.  His  confidence  was  re 
stored,  and  although  he  did  not  stand  in  need  of 
the  money,  he  wished  to  know  that  his  property  was 
in  safe  hands. 

This  little  sketch  has  a  moral,  if  the  reader  has 
sagacity  enough  to  find  it  out. 


EFFECTS    OF    INTERRUPTION. 

GUIDO  had  painted  a  picture  that  astonished  all 
Florence.     It  rested  upon   his  easel.     It  was  pro- 


104  LEAVES   FROM  A   PORTFOLIO. 

nounced  his  chef-d'oeuvre.     It  was  almost  perfect. 
Everybody  came  to  see — to  admire — to  praise  it. 

"  How  glorious  !"  said  one. 

"It  has  never  been  excelled!"  said  another. 

"  What  atmosphere — what  vitality  !"  said  a  third. 

"  And  why  don't  the  group  of  peasants  speak  ?" 
said  a  fourth. 

A  slight  defect  was  observed  in  the  face  of  one 
of  them,  which  was  a  portrait  taken  from  life. 
Guido  was  alone.  He  sat  about  remedying  the  • 
defect.  He  had  mixed  the  colours — the  brush  had 
touched  the  canvass — he  was  full  of  the  idea  of 
making  the  picture  "  not  almost,  but  altogether" 
perfect,  and  a  bland  smile  irradiated  his  fine  coun 
tenance — when  an  officer  entered  his  studio  and 
arrested  him  for  debt.  Guido  rose  from  his  seat 
and  dashed  the  brush  at  the  unoffending  canvass  ! 
The  picture  was  ruined  for  ever ! 

"  What  a  fretful  fool  was  Guido !"  said  one. 

"  How  irritable  !"  said  another. 

"  What  a  dunce  to  get  into  a  passion  because  he 
was  interrupted  !"  said  a  third. 

"  How  silly  to  spoil  in  a  moment  the  labour  of  a 
year  !"  said  a  fourth. 

"  He  is  not  constructed  like  other  men,  and  is  a 
fool,"  said  they  all. 

"  Do  you  paint,  friends  ?"  asked  a  bystander. 

"  No,"  was  the  reply. 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.      JQ5 

"  Then  you  know  nothing  of  the  workings  of  the 
mind  of  an  artist,  nor  can  you  feel  the  withering 
disappointment  he  endures  when,  just  as  he  is  giving 
the  last  touch  to  a  production  that  is  to  bring  him 
fame  and  competence,  his  golden  dream  is  broken. 
His  imagination  takes  \vings,  and  that  which  but  a 
moment  before  was  the  aspiration  of  a  bright  and 
burning  fancy,  \vhen  left  unfinished  and  resumed  in 
a  more  serious  mood,  becomes  a  mechanical  and 
weary  drudgery.  Had  Guido  been  differently  con 
structed,  had  he  been  what  you  have  been  pleased 
to  call  him — a  fool — he  never  would  have  been  able 
to  paint  the  picture  at  all." 


THE    HUNCHBACK. 

DURING  the  last  rehearsal  of  the  play  of  the  Hunch 
back,  Mr.  Knowles,  who  personally  superintended 
the  stage-directions,  was  frequently  annoyed  by  the 
remarks  of  the  actors.  Some  of  them  very  much 
doubted  the  success  of  the  piece.  Charles  Kemble 
thought  the  part  of  Sir  Thomas  Clifford  unworthy 
of  his  talents ;  he  consented,  however,  to  perform 
it,  for  his  daughter's  sake.  This  nettled  Knowles, 
who  would  not  listen  to  a  single  suggestion. 

"  Give  me  another  entrance  and  exit  speech," 
said  Kemble. 

"  I  can  add  nothing  more,"  replied  Knowles. 


_LQ6  LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

"  You  can't  ?"  exclaimed  the  actor. 

"No  !"  rejoined  the  dramatist. 

"  Give  me  a  few  words  here,"  said  the  first. 

"  Not  a  line,"  said  Knowles,  "except  it  be  one  to 
hang  yourself  with." 

Here  the  parties  turned  from  each  other,  and  the 
business  of  the  stage  went  on  for  a  few  moments 
longer,  when  it  was  again  interrupted  by  Kemble  : 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Knowles  ;  but  this  part 
absolutely  requires  an  addition  :  a  slight  alteration 
would  render  the  play  far  more  effective.  You  must 
make  another  speech  for  Sir  Thomas." 

Knowles  coloured,  and,  turning  abruptly  to  "  the 
patrician  of  the  stage,"  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in 
these  terms  : — 

"Mr.  Kemble,  brains  are  not  shingles,  sir;  and — " 

"  And  what,  sir  ?"  said  Kemble. 

"  And  if  they  were,"  rejoined  the  author,  "  I  am 
no  carpenter !" 

Kemble  smiled  at  the  oddity  of  the  expression, 
and  Knowles  left  the  theatre  in  a  huff. 

"At  night,  the  bickerings  of  the  morning  were 
forgotten — the  house  was  crowded  with  the  beauty, 
fashion  and  taste  of  the  English  metropolis — the 
play  was  applauded  and  cheered  throughout — and 
the  curtain  fell  amid  the  most  animated  applause 
ever  heard  within  the  walls  of  a  theatre.  First 
the  author  (who,  in  consequence  of  the  indisposi- 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.      JQ7 

tion  of  one  of  the  actors,  performed  the  Hunch 
back,)  was  called  for  and  made  his  bow ;  he  was 
received  with  loud  and  hearty  cheers — then  the  fair 
debutante.  Miss  Fanny  Kemble,  who  had  made  a 
deep  impression  in  the  character  of  Julia :  the  pit 
arose  and  testified  their  approbation,  and  the  waving 
of  handkerchiefs  was  universal  throughout  the  boxes 
— and  next  came  Mr.  Charles  Kemble,  who  an 
nounced  the  play  for  repetition,  amid  most  deafening 
acclamations  ;  and  the  parties  retired,  covered  with 
laurels. 

"  Well,"  said  Knowles,  when  they  were  out  of 
publick  view,  "  what  alteration  can  you  suggest 
now,  Mr.  Kemble  ?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  text,"  said  Kemble  ;  "  but  I  think 
the  cast  of  the  piece  might  be  improved." 

"  Ah,  there,"  said  Knowles,  "  I  allow  you  to  be  a 
better  judge  than  myself;  any  suggestion  of  yours 
is  worth  attending  to — -what  is  it  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Kemble,  intending  to  hit  poor 
Knowles  in  a  sensitive  part,  "  I  think  if  Master 
Walter  were  in  any  other  hands  but  your  own,  the 
play  would  go  off  better!" 

Knowles  looked  confused,  and  was  evidently  hurt 
at  the  remark ;  but  he  immediately  rallied  his  spirits 
and  asked  Kemble  what  fault  he  had  to  find  with 
his  performance. 

"Why,  sir,"   said  Kemble,  "you  are  imperfect 


* 

108  LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

in  the  words;  and,  from  this  circumstance,  it  ap 
pears  that  you  do  not  give  the  true  meaning  of  the 
author" 

This  retort,  strange  to  say,  restored  good  feeling 
between  the  parties ;  mutual  concessions  were  ex 
changed,  and  the  next  day  all  London  was  loud  in 
praise  of  the  Hunchback  ! 


MAJOR   NO  All. 


WE  remember,  as  a  thing  of  yesterday,  notwith 
standing  many  years  have  passed  away  since  that 
merry  night,  when  Mr.  Noah's  play  of  "  She  would 
be  a  soldier"  was  first  performed  ;  when  bonny  Miss 
Leesugg — now  Mrs.  Hackett — looked  like  a  Hebe 
and  sung  like  a  nightingale  !  She  played  the  prin 
cipal  character  ;  and,  although  a  spinster  then,  wore 
the  breeches  to  the  infinite  delight  and  satisfaction 
of  everybody.  Barnes  was  then  the  merriest  dog 
alive — Simpson  was  in  all  liis  glory,  and  Pritchard 
was  the  top  tragedian  of  the  Park.  We  have  for 
gotten  who  else  figured  on  that  memorable  occasion ; 
but  one  thing  we  shall  never  forget ;  each  one  of  the 
audience,  on  going  into  the  house,  was  presented 
with  a  printed  copy  of  the  play.  This  was  a  sad 
annoyance  to  the  poor  actors,  very  few  of  whom 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.      109 

knew  their  parts  ;  and,  when  the  curtain  rose,  and 
they  perceived  that  each  auditor  had  a  book  before 
him,  they  were  scarcely  able  to  articulate  what  little 
they  had  committed  to  memory  !  The  embarrass-  ' 
ment  was  universal  and  very  amusing ;  but,  when 
the  audience  wet  their  thumbs  and  turned  over  the 
pages  together,  the  effect  was  ludicrous  in  the  ex 
treme  !  The  rustling  of  leaves  was  prodigious,  and 
the  turning  of  every  page  was  the  signal  for  shouts 
of  boisterous  merriment.  We  have  thought  of  that 
night  a  thousand  times,  and  laughed  heartily  at  the 
recollection  of  the  odd  things  said  and  done  by 
Barnes,  who  was  then  so  great  a  favourite  that  he 
took  all  manner  of  liberties  with  the  publick  with 
perfect  impunity.  The  writer  of  this  was  a  boy  at 
the  time,  and  remembers  Major  Noah  as  the  great 
literary  and  political  lion  of  this  the  greatest  of  all 
possible  great  cities.  He  told  the  best  story,  rounded 
the  best  sentence,  and  wrote  the  best  play  of  all  his 
contemporaries.  He  was  the  life  and  spirit  and  quo 
tation  of  all  circles.  As  editor,  critick,  and  author, 
he  was  looked  up  to  as  an  oracle.  He  was,  in  short, 
the  idoneus  homo  of  that  day.  His  wit  was  every 
where  repeated,  and  his  kindheartedness — which, 
by-the-by,  to  this  very  hour  has  never  forsaken  him 
— was  the  theme  of  every  tongue.  He  was  soon  af 
terwards  appointed  sheriff,  and  the  only  reason  ever 
given  for  turning  him  out  was,  that  "the  people 


LEAVES   FROM   A  PORTFOLIO. 

thought  it  devilish  hard  that  a  Jew  should  hang  a 
Christian  !"  "  Pretty  Christians,  forsooth  !"  said  the 
facetious  major  in  his  newspaper,  "  whose  crimes 
have  sent  them  to  the  gallows !"  While  in  office, 
Major  Noah  wrote  several  other  pieces  for  the  stage, 
which  were  eminently  successful.  One  of  them  was 
so  redolent  of  villanous  saltpetre,  brimstone,  sulphur, 
and  blue  and  red  lights,  that  it  set  fire  to  the  theatre 
and  burnt  it  to  the  ground  !  The  proceeds  of  that 
night  were  for  the  benefit  of  Major  Noah.  The  house 
was  filled  to  its  utmost  limits  with  the  beauty  and 
fashion  of  the  town.  Oh  the  cheerful  hearts  and  ra 
diant  faces  of  that  merry  occasion  !  and  oh  the  ap 
plause  and  hilarity  of  all  the  mad  wags  and  wits  that 
were  present !  The  receipts  were  nearly  two  thou 
sand  dollars — a  larger  sum  than  is  ever  seen  for  the 
performance  of  a  single  evening  in  these  degenerate 
days  of  paper  currency  and  empty  pockets.  It  was 
an  awful  conflagration  that  succeeded  however,  and 
it  produced  the  greatest  distress  among  the  kings  and 
knights,  princes  and  pickpockets,  baronets  and  ban 
ditti,  and  all  the  other  heroes  of  the  sock  and  buskin, 
who  lost  every  thing  they  had,  and  were  thrown  en 
tirely  out  of  employment  until  the  opening  of  the 
Anthony-street  theatre.  Their  drooping  fortunes  were 
here  revived  by  the  first  appearance  of  Kean,  that 
aloe-tree  of  the  dramatick  groves,  which  blooms  but 
once  in  a  hundred  years.  Major  Noah's  two  thousand 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

dollars,  however,  were  saved.  Mr.  Faulkner,  the 
treasurer,  had  taken  the  money  home  with  him  Tor 
safe  keeping,  and  the  next  day  Mr.  Price  enclosed 
it  to  the  author.  We  remember  the  correspondence 
that  ensued,  and  we  were  struck  with  the  generosity 
and  magnanimity  of  Noah,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
own  pecuniary  wants,  and  they  were  many  at  the 
time,  returned  every  fraction  of  the  amount,  and 
caused  it  to  be  divided  among  the  performers,  who 
had  been  stripped  of  their  little  all  by  the  fire  !  This 
noble  act  made  a  deep  impression  upon  the  mind  of 
the  writer  of  this,  who,  after  the  lapse  of  a  little  life 
time,  feels  an  emotion  about  the  heart,  while  he 
records  it  in  these  fugitive  pages  ;  thinking,  per 
haps,  that  it  may  serve  as  a  hint  to  Mr.  Dunlap, 
or  some  other  historian  of  the  stage,  as  raw  material 
for  a  more  elaborate  sketch  of  one  who  has  done 
much  for  the  drama  and  its  professors  in  this  country. 
We  could  tell  a  thousand  anecdotes  of  the  good  ma 
jor,  but  we  forego  the  pleasure  for  the  present.  The 
truth  is,  we  merely  intended  to  refer  to  the  fact  that 
a  new  play  of  his  was  forthcoming,  and  our  feelings, 
almost  against  our  will,  betrayed  us  into  what  has 
followed.  If  we  have  given  "  fancy  the  whip,  imagi 
nation  the  reins,  while  system  came  limping  behind," 
his  good  nature  will  excuse  us ;  and  so  will  our  citi 
zens  for  writing  about  one  we  have  known  so  long 
and  intimately,  with  something  like  a  heart-glow. 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

THE    ACTORS    AND    THE    BROKERS. 
"Oh,  that  infernal  Jacob  Barker !" 

SOME  nine  years  since,  Barnes  and  Hackett,  the 
comedians,  met  in  Wall-street.  Barnes  was  in  a 
towering  fury,  for  he  had  just  heard  of  the  loss  of 
some  two  or  three  thousand  dollars,  in  consequence 
of  the  failure  of  the  Tradesmen's  Bank,  and  other 
little  misfortunes  of  that  kind.  The  following  dia 
logue  is  authentick : 

Barnes. — Hallo,  Hackett !  here,  just  step  into  the 
Union  Bank  with  me  :  I  want  to  get  my  dividend. 

HacJcett. — With  pleasure.  Why,  what  a  great 
stockholder  you  are  becoming  in  the  banks. 

Barnes. — Oh,  confound  them.  I  suppose  you  have 
heard  of  my  losses  in  the  Tradesmen  ? 

Hackett. — Yes,  and  am  very  sorry  for  them. 

Barnes. — It's  all  along  with  that  infernal  Jacob 
Barker! 

Hackett. — Indeed . 

Barnes, — Yes,  I'd  have  that  fellow  hanged:  but 
let's  go  in  for  my  dividend. 

And  in  the  comedians  went  together. 

Barnes  called  on  the  first  teller,  and  told  him  he 
wanted  his  dividend.  The  first  teller  referred  him 
to  the  president,  an  old  gray-headed  gentleman,  who 
stood  behind  the  counter. 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.  H3 

Barnes. — Called  for  my  dividend,  sir. 

President. — For  your  what .? 

Barnes. — My  dividend. 

President. — Beg  your  pardon  sir;  but  what  is 
your  name  ? 

Barnes. — Mr.  Barnes. 

Upon  the  avowal  of  this  fact  every  clerk  in  the 
bank  turned  to  look  at  the  comedian,  who  was  un 
known  until  the  anouncement  of  his  name.  Upon 
which  there  was  a  general  titter  throughout  the 
bank,  everybody  being  well  acquainted  with  "  old 
Barnes,"  as  he  wras  called  upon  the  stage. 

President. — Mr.  Barnes,  we  do  not  make  any  divi 
dend  for  the  last  six  months. 

Barnes. — No !  why,  what  the  devil's  the  reason  ? 

Prisident. — Why,  haven't  you  heard  of  the  forgery 
on  the  bank,  and  the  arrest  of  Redmond  ? 

Barnes. — No  ;  haven't  heard  a  syllable  of  it ;  but 
I  want  my  dividend.  You're  not  going  to  swindle 
me  out  of  that,  I  hope  !  Oh,  that  infernal  Jacob 
Barker ! 

,  President. — Mr.  Barker  has  nothing  to  do  with 
this  institution,  Mr.  Barnes,  and  we  can't,  make  any 
dividend  until  we  recover  our  late  losses. 

Barnes. — Then,  sir,  you  are  all  a  set  of  swindlers 
— beg  your  pardon — heaven  forgive  me  for  getting 
angry — but  I  believe  you  are  all  as  bad  as  Jacob 
Barker  himself — all  in  the  plot.  No  dividend,  eh  ! 


314  LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

President. — No,  not  a  cent. 

Barnes. — Well,  I  hope  my  principal's  safe  ? 

President. — Certainly. 

Barnes. — Well,  that's  better  than  the  Tradesmen's. 
Oh,  that  infernal  Jacob  Barker !  Good-day,  sir. 
Come,  Hackett. 

And  the  parties  left  the  bank  amid  the  general 
titter  of  all  present.  On  going  out  Barnes  turned  to 
Hackett : 

Barnes. — Didn't  I  give  it  to  that  old  fellow  ? 

Hackett.- — Yes,  I  think  you  did. 

Barnes. — Well,  there's  some  comfort  in  speaking 
one's  mind.  Oh,  that  infernal  Jacob  Barker!  I 
should  like  to  tell  him  my  opinion. 

Hackett. — What  makes  you  so  angry  with  Jacob 
Barker  ? 

Barnes. — Why,  all  these  failures  are  owing  to  him. 
Didn't  he  advise  me  to  buy  in  the  Tradesmen  and 
the  Union,  merely  to  swindle  me  out  of  my  money  ? 
I  wish  I  could  only  see  him  now.  Hollo ! — yonder 
he  goes  ! — Hollo ! — Jacob  Barker  ! — here  ! — I  want 
to  speak  to  you. 

Barnes  and  Hackett  ran  after  him  at  the  top  of 
their  speed,  and  soon  overtook  the  wily  broker. 

Barker — Why,  Mr.  Barnes,  what' s  the  matter  ? 

Barnes. — Why,  matter  enough.  How  came  you 
to  advise  me  to  buy  stock  in  the  Tradesman  and 
Union  Banks  ? 


LEAVES   FROM  A   PORTFOLIO.  U5 

Barker. — Why,  I  thought  the  stock  good  at  the 
time. 

Barnes. — Well,  one's  failed  and  the  other  has  had 
a  forgery  committed  upon  it. 

Barker. — And  so  "you've  lost  your  money. 

Barnes. — Exactly. 

Barker. — I'm  sorry  to  hear  it ;  but  you  must  bear 
your  losses  like  a  Christian. 

Barnes. — Well,  that's  cool ! 

Barker. — Yes,  Mr.  Barnes,  I'm  always  cool — and 
I  advise  you  to  keep  so  too.  But  I'm  too  busy  to 
waste  my  time  with  you  just  now.  I've  important 
business  on  hand ;  so  good-by. 

Barker  went  on  his  way,  leaving  poor  Barnes  al 
most  choking  with  rage  at  the  remembrance  of  his 
losses.  He  was  absolutely  too  angry  to  utter  a 
syllable  at  the  moment ;  but  as  soon  as  he  recovered 
the  use  of  his  tongue  he  bawled  after  him,  at  the  top 
of  his  compass — 

Barnes. — Good-by,  old  Shylock  !  The  day  you 
die  there'll  be  a  man  hung !  Oh,  that  infernal  Jacob 
Barker ! 

(Exit  Barnes  in  a  huff — and  Hackett  convulsed  with 
laughter.) 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 


HILSON    AND    PAUL    PRY. 

"It  is  a  singular  fact,  but  nevertheless  eminently  true,  that  of  all  persons, 
actors  in  general  are  the  worst  judges  of  an  unacted  play.  It  was  given  in 
evidence,  before  the  committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  anent  Dramatick 
Affairs,  that  the  plays  which,  by  the  unanimous  consent  of  the  green-room,  had 
been  esteemed  to  be  all  that  they  ought  to  be,  were,  on  the  first  night  of  repre 
sentation,  almost  uniformly  condemned." — Sunbeam. 

WE  remember,  on  the  first  announcement  of  "  Paul 
Pry"  at  the  Park  theatre,  meeting  with  Hilson  just 
as  he  was  coming  out  of  the  house  after  rehearsal. 

"  Well,"  said  we,  "what  sort  of  a  piece  is  Paul 
Pry?" 

"  Poor  stuff,"  said  Hilson.     "  It  won't  do." 

"  How  do  you  like  your  own  part?" 

"  Not  at  all — it's  very  heavy :  I  wonder  how  Listen 
made' anything  of  it." 

"  What  sort  of  a  part  has  Barnes  ?" 

"  Not  good." 

"  What  will  Mrs.  Wheatley  do  with  Mrs.  Subtle?" 

"  Nothing — the  piece  is  bad  !" 

Who  would  have  thought  after  this,  that  this  same 
play  was  performed  at  the  Park  by  these  same  per 
formers — Barnes  as  Colonel  Hardy,  Hilson  as  Paul 
Pry,  and  Mrs.  Wheatley  as  Mrs.  Subtle,  upwards  of 
two  hundred  nights,  and  that  it  was  decidedly  the 
most  popular  play  ever  produced  at  that  theatre  ? 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.  H7 


ORAL  ANECDOTES  OF  WELL-KNOWN  INDIVIDUALS. 

WHEN  Commodore  Porter  last  visited  this  city, 
he  spent  much  of  his  time  at  the  hospitable  mansion 
of  the  late  General  Morton,  who,  as  every  body  knows, 
was  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and  a  man  of  very 
agreeable  wit  and  compliment.  The  walls  of  the 
general's  library  were  graced  with  various  produc 
tions  of  the  pencil  and  graver,  and  among  them  full- 
length  portraits  of  several  distinguished  naval  offi 
cers — Decatur,  Bainbridge,  Perry,  Morris,  and 
others.  The  commodore  expressed  his  admiration 
of  the  fidelity  and  effect  of  these  ;  but  said  they 
were  too  large.  "  Now,  I  intend  to  add  my  portrait 
to  your  collection  shortly ;  but  it  shall  be  done  in 
quite  a  different  style." 

"  Then  you  do  not  like  these  ?"  said  the  general. 

"  Not  exactly,"  replied  the  commodore  ;  "  there's 
entirely  too  much  canvas." 

11  That's  a  very  singular  objection  for  you  to 
make,"  observed  the  facetious  general,  directing  the 
attention  of  his  guest  to  a  small  picture  representing 
the  engagement  of  the  Essex  with  a  frigate  and  a 
sloop  of  war,  off  Valparaiso,  which  hung  in  one 
corner  of  the  room,  "  a  very  singular  objection, 
indeed,  when  we  have  before  us  an  evidence  that  it 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

will  require  double  the  usual  quantity  of  canvas  to 
take  you" 

There  are  many  good  stories  in  circulation  re 
specting  our  worthy  fellow-citizen,  Preserved  Fish. 
This  gentleman,  in  early  life,  was  a  sea-captain. 
One  day  his  vessel  was  hailed  by  a  brig,  when  the 
following  dialogue  took  place  : 

"Ship  a-hoy?" 

"Hallo!" 

"  Who's  your  captain  ?" 

"  Preserved  Fish." 

"Who?" 

"  Preserved  Fish." 

The  master  of  the  brig,  thinking  he  was  misun 
derstood,  and  wondering  at  the  stupidity  of  the 
opposite  party,  again  applied  the  trumpet  to  his 
mouth  and  bawled  out, 

"I  say,  mister,  I  don't  want  to  know  what  your 
cargo  is  ;  but  what's  your  captain's  n-a-m-e  ?" 

The  late  Major  Fairlie  was  a  marked,  original  and 
peculiar  character.  When  the  new  constitution  of 
this  state  was  submitted  to  the  people  for  adoption, 
they  were  required  to  deposite  either  the  word  yes 
or  no  in  the  ballot  boxes.  There  was  no  accepting 
the  good  and  rejecting  the  bad  parts  of  it.  No  alter 
ation  or  amendment  whatever  would  be  permitted. 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.       ]J9 

It  must  either  be  taken  as  a  whole,  or  not  at  all. 
Major  F.  thought  the  new  document,  in  many  re 
spects,  far  preferable  to  the  old  one,  but  he  did  not 
altogether  fancy  it  as  it  stood.  On  being  asked  his 
opinion,  he  said, 

"  That  instrument  is  like  a  good  oyster,  but  it's 
plaguy  hard  to  be  compelled  to  swallow  the  shells 
along  with  it."  ^*.* 

The  pious  Mr. ,  who,  by  the  way,  is  sus 
pected  of  being  no  better  than  he  should  be,  notwith 
standing  all  his  professions,  a  short  time  since  rebuked 
a  well-known  merchant  of  this  city  for  using  profane 
language. 

"Your  discourse  is  ungentlemanly  and  impious," 

said  Mr. .    "  You  should  break  yourself  of  such 

an  abominable  practice." 

"  I  know  it,"  returned  the  dealer  in  cotton-bales 
and  profanity  ;  "  but  most  men  fall  into  some  error 
or  other  unknown  to  themselves,  yet  they  are  en- 
,  tirely  innocent  of  all  intention  to  do  wrong,  notwith- 
**standing  their  little  inaccuracies — now  I  swear  a 
great  deal,  and  you  pray  a  great  deal,  yet  neither  of 
,  I'm  confident,  means  any  thing  by  it." 


When  Mr.  Lee  was  mayor  of  the  city  of  New- 
York,  he   happened  to  be   in  conversation  with  a 


120      LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

friend,  as  the  omnibus,  called  "  the  Gideon  Lee," 
rolled  past. 

"  I  was  aware,"  observed  his  companion,  "  that 
your  honour  was  destined  to  play  many  conspicuous 
parts  in  the  great  drama  of  human  life  ;  but  I  never 
expected  to  see  you  on  fae public  stage!" 

No  man  in  this  community  had  a  larger  circle  of 
acquaintance  than  the  late  Doctor  Hosack.  He  stood 
in  Wall-street  half  an  hour  one  morning,  talking 
with  a  friend,  and  almost  every  body  spoke  to  him 
as  they  passed.  It  is  incredible  the  number  of 
nods  and  how-d'ye-dos  and  how-are-yes  the  worthy 
physician  received  in  the  short  space  above  men 
tioned.  These,  however,  were  so  numerous  as  to 
induce  his  friend  to  remark — 

"Why,  doctor,  you  appear  to  be  pretty  well  known 
in  New-York  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  M.  D.,  with  a  little  pardonable 
self-conceit,  "  I  think,  if  I  were  to  commit  murder, 
they  would  find  me  out." 

"  Why,  yes,"  returned  the  other,  "  except  you  did 
it  in  the  way  of  your  profession  !" 

The  doctor,  it  is  said,  did  not  relish  the  joke. 

Doctors  are  fond  of  ridiculing  each  other,  and 
their  controversies  are  at  times  quite  amusing.  Now 
it  is  well  known  that  the  practitioners  of  the  old 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

school  have  a  mortal  antipathy  to  the  disciples  of  the 
new.  Among  your  regular  Galens,  homoepathia 
is  exceedingly  unpopular — they  scout  it  on  all  occa 
sions.  A  lady  called  on  Dr.  Francis,  an  eminent 
practitioner,  and  an  adherent  of  the  Sangrado  sys 
tem,  with  an  imaginary  complaint  of  the  heart,  and 
was  recommended  by  him  in  derision  to  try  Dr. 
Hahnemann's  method.  "  What  is  that  ?"  asked  the 
invalid.  "  Why,  madam."  said  he,  "  it  is  a  sovereign 
remedy  for  every  complaint  under  the  sun.  In  your 
case,  I  would  advise  you  to  dissolve  one  grain  of 
muriate  of  soda  (common  salt)  in  a  hogshead  of 
water,  and  take  a  teaspoonful  every  three  months." 
The  lady  followed  the  advice  thus  given,  and  strange 
to  say,  after  two  doses,  was  entirely  cured  of  her 
complaint,  and  recommended  it  to  others  as  a  specific 
in  all  similar  cases.  Such  is  the  power  of  the 
imagination ! 

During  the  "  panick"  in  the  money  market  some 
few  years  ago,  a  meeting  of  merchants  was  held  in 
the  Exchange,  to  devise  ways  and  means  to  extri 
cate  themselves  from  their  pecuniary  difficulties. 
The  great  hall  was  crowded,  addresses  were  made, 
resolutions  passed,  committees  appointed,  and  every 
thing  done  that  is  usual  and  necessary.  After  all 
this,  one  of  the  company  moved  that  the  meeting 
stand  adjourned  until  some  future  day,  when  up 

K 


122      LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

jumped  a  little  jobber,  in  a  great  state  of  excitement, 
and  requested  the  merchants  to  linger  a  moment,  as 
he  had  something  of  the  greatest  importance  to  com 
municate.  The  jobber  was  known  to  be  a  very 
diffident  person  ;  and,  as  he  had  never  ventured  on 
the  responsibilities  of  a  speech  on  any  former  pub 
lic  occasion,  all  were  anxious  to  hear  what  he  had 
to  say. — "  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  with  evident  emo 
tion,  and  in  the  most  emphatic,  feeling  and  eloquent 
manner,  "  what's  the  use  of  talking  of  some  future 
day  ?  We  want  relief,  I  tell  you  ! — immediate  relief!" 
and  down  he  sat  amidst  a  universal  roar  of  laughter. 
The  next  day  he  failed  ! 

•  The  late  Charles  Gilfert,  the  quondam  manager 
of  the  Bowery  theatre,  was  a  peculiar  fellow,  and 
one  of  the  most  fascinating  men  of  his  day.  At 
Albany  he  met  with  a  Mr.  Lemair,  a  Frenchman,  of 
whom  he  borrowed  money  until  he  nearly  ruined 
him.  Lemair  was  one  day  in  a  towering  rage  at  the 
cause  of  his  misfortunes,  and  used  to  tell  the  follow 
ing  characteristic  story  of  his  friend  : — "  Monsieur 
Charles  Gilfert,  he  come  to  Albany.  He  have  ruin 
me  in  my  business — mes  affaires.  He  borrow  de 
I1  argent  from  me  to  large  amount.  He  go  to  New- 
York,  and  promise  to  send  him,  right  avay,  ver 
quick.  But,  voyez-vous,  when  I  write  him,  he  re 
turn  me  von  reponse  inconvenante,  von  impudent 


LEAVES   FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

answer,  and  say,  I  may  go  to  de  devil  for  look  for 
him.  I  leave  Albany  instantly,  determined  to  have 
the  grand  personal  satisfaction  for  the  affront  he  put 
upon  me.  I  walk  straight  avay  from  de  bateau  d 
vapcur,  de  steamboat.  I  go  to  my  boarding-house. 
I  procure  von  large  stick,  and  rush  out  of  de  pe?ision 
to  meet  him.  By-and-by,  bientot,  I  see  him  von  large 
vay  off,  very  remotely.  I  immediately  button  up 
my  coat  vith  strong  determination,  and  hold  my 
stick  fierce  in  my  hand,  to  break  his  neck  several 
time.  Ven  he  come  near,  my  indignation  rise. 
He  put  out  his  hand.  I  reject  him.  He  smile,  and 
look  over  his  spectacles  at  me.  I  say,  you  von 
scoundrel,  coquin  infame.  He  smile  de  more,  and 
make  un  grand  effort,  a  great  trial,  to  pacify  my 
grande  indignation,  and  before  he  leave  me,  he  bor 
row  twenty  dollare  from  me  once  more,  by  gar !  A 
ver  pleasant  man  vas  Monsieur  Charles  Gilfert ;  ver 
nice  man  to  borrow  V argent,  mafoi  /" 

Gilfert,  like  Sheridan,  was  in  the  habit  of  borrow 
ing  money  from  everybody,  very  little  of  which  was 
ever  paid  back ;  but  he  always  intended  to  return 
it  at  the  time  he  promised.  He  was  a  visionary 
man,  and  did  not  make  the  best  calculations  in  the 
world.  We  heard  of  his  meeting  a  friend  in  the 
Bowery,  one  day,  when  the  following  circumstance 
took  place  : 


124      LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO. 

"  Ah,"  said  Gilfert,  "  you  are  the  very  man  I 
wanted  to  see.  Lend  me  two  hundred  dollars." 

"  I  would,  in  a  moment,"  replied  his  friend,"  "but 
it  is  impossible.  I  have  a  note  to  pay,  and  I  don't 
know  where  to  get  the  money." 

"  A  note,  said  Gilfert,  "  so  have  I.  Let  me  see 
your  notice." 

The  gentleman  produced  it  from  his  pocket-book. 

"  Well,"  said  Gilfert,  "how  much  are  you  short  ?" 

"  About  two  hundred  dollars,"  said  his  friend. 
To  his  utter  surprise,  Gilfert  handed  him  the  money. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  go  and  pay  your  note.  I'll 
let  mine  be  protested,  as  they  can't  both  be  taken 
up.  If  your  note  laid  over,  it  might  hurt  your 
credit,  but  with  me  it  don't  matter,  as  I  am  used  to 
that  sort  of  business." 

At  one  time  Gilfert  owed  Conrad,  the  printer,  a 
bill.  Conrad  grew  tired  of  dunning  him  for  it,  and 
one  day  wrote  Gilfert  a  letter,  which  put  the  mana 
ger  in  a  towering  fury.  Down  he  sat,  arid  challenged 
Conrad  to  fight,  declaring  that  if  he  refused,  he 
would  horsewhip  him  in  the  public  streets  the  next 
day.  Conrad  returned  for  answer  that  he  would 
not  fight,  until  his  bill  was  paid,  as  no  man  in  his 
senses  would  voluntarily  go  out  to  shoot  at  his  own 
money.  Some  few  weeks  after  this  occurrence, 
Gilfert  had  an  unexpected  windfall.  Conrad  re- 


LEAVES  FROM  A  PORTFOLIO.       J25 

ceived  a  letter  from  him,  couched  in  something  like 
the  following  terms  : 

"  MY  DEAR  CONRAD — I  was  wrong,  but  you  had 
no  right  to  insult  me.  Yet  I  ought  to  have  paid  you 
the  money  before.  I  enclose  it  to  you  now,  prin 
cipal  and  interest.  Come  and  dine  with  me.  Tout 
a  vous. 

GlLFERT." 

What  a  pity  it  is  that  some  good  writer  would  not 
give  us  the  memoirs  of  this  extraordinary  man. 


K* 


MR.   BEVERLEY   LEE. 


„       . 


MR.    BEVERLEY    LEE; 

OR, 

THE  DAYS  OF    THE  SHIN-PLASTERS. 


"  Who's  in  or  out,  who  moves  the  grand  machine, 

Nor  stirs  my  curiosity  nor  spleen  ; 

Secrets  of  state  no  more  I  wish  to  know 

Than  secret  movements  of  a  puppet  show; 

Let  but  the  puppets  move,  I've  my  desire, 

Unseen  the  hand  which  guides  the  master  wire."— Churchill. 

"The  benefits  he  sow'd  in  me,  met  not 

Unthankful  ground,  but  yielded  him  his  own 

With  fair  increase ;  and  still  I  glory  in  it." — Massinger. 

"  The  dearest  friend  to  me,  the  kindest  man, 
The  best  conditioned  and  unwearied  spirit 
In  doing  courtesies." — Shakspeare. 


WALL-STREET  was  in  commotion.  The  pave 
ments  of  that  busy,  bustling  mart  were  crowded 
with  brokers, bank-directors,  merchants,  speculators, 
politicians,  editors,  and  all  the  other  representatives 
of  the  commercial  metropolis.  Care  and  anxiety 
were  written  on  every  countenance.  It  was  a  time 


130  MR-    BEVERLEY   LEE. 

of  unusual  embarrassment.  Commerce,  trade,  and 
all  the  resources  of  the  country  were  paralyzed. 
Discontent  and  murmurings  were  heard  in  every 
quarter.  There  was  a  panic. 

"  General  Jackson  had  destroyed  the  country !" 
said  a  whig. 

"  Mr.  Biddle  has  curtailed  our  discounts  !"  said 
a  conservative. 

"  All  confidence  is  lost !"  said  a  reformer. 

"  And  every  merchant  in  New-York  must  fail !" 
said  a  loco-foco. 

"  We  are  on  the  eve  of  a  revolution  !"  ejaculated 
a  patriotic  little  stock-jobber,  the  chairman  of  a  ward 
meeting ;  "  and  if  we  don't  do  away  with  the  go 
vernment,  the  government  will  do  away  with  us  ; 
therefore,  I  say,  down  with  the  government !" 

"  Down  with  the  bank  !"  responded  an  adminis 
tration  worthy  near  him,  with  equal  fervour  and 
patriotism. 

"  Neither  the  government  nor  the  bank  are  an 
swerable  for  the  present  condition  of  things,"  said 
a  meddling  little  secretary  of  an  insurance  company, 
who  stepped  in  as  mediator  between  the  contending 
parties. 

"  To  what  is  it  owing,  then  f"  asked  they. 

"  To  the  great  fire  of  the  sixteenth  of  December, 
which  destroyed  one  section  of  our  city  and  twenty 
millions  of  property." 


MR.    BEVERLEY   LEE.  ]31 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  the»editor  of  a  political  journal, 
who  was  supposed  to  know  everything,  past,  present 
and  to  come.  "  Our  calamities  are  owing  to  the 
enormous  speculations  which  have  taken  place  in 
real  estate.  We  needed  a  check  of  some  sort.  We 
were  buying  lots  in  the  moon  and  laying  out  litho 
graphic  cities  in  the  stars,  and  the  consequence  is  a 
revulsion  unparalleled  in  our  annals." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  the 
news  that  some  twenty  new  bankruptcies  had  oc 
curred  among  the  oldest  mercantile  houses  in  the 
city  ;  that  one  bank  had  stopped  payment,  and  that 
a  run  had  been  commenced  on  the  others.  All  was 
confusion  and  dismay.  Individuals  were  seen  hur 
rying  to  and  fro  with  bags  of  coin  upon  their  shoul 
ders,  of  which  they  had  just  been  draining  the  banks. 
Idle  rumours  were  everywhere  circulated. 

The  president  of  one  of  the  banks  had  committed 
suicide,  and  others  had  absconded  with  the  moneys 
committed  to  their  trust.  Mobs  were  forming  to  lay 
waste  all  the  monied  institutions  of  the  city,  and  to 
tumble  the  buildings  about  the  ears  of  their  officers. 
The  mayor  had  called  out  the  military  to  preserve 
the  public  peace.  The  police  patroled  the  streets 
by  day,  and  the  watch  was  doubled  by  night.  The 
citizens  of  New- York  were  in  dread  of  fire  and  the 
sword. 

The  hour  of  three,  p.  M.,  when  all  business  ordi- 


MR-    BEVERLEY   LEE. 

narily  ceases  in  Wall-street,  at  length  arrived.  The 
omnibusses,  those  most  convenient  things  in  the 
world,  (only  when  you  want  them,  particularly  on 
rainy  days,  they  are  either  full  or  going  the  wrong 
way,)  rumbled  over  the  pavements.  The  multitude 
began  to  scatter  ;  but,  long  after  the  money  deposi 
tories  were  closed,  might  be  seen  lingering  around 
the  bulletins  of  the  newspaper-offices,  knots  of  anx 
ious,  discontented  spirits,  talking  over  the  events  of 
the  day  and  anticipating  the  horrors  of  the  morrow. 

It  was  in  one  of  these  little  assemblies  that  Mr. 
Beverley  Lee,  a  handsome,  fashionable,  light-hearted 
young  fellow,  a  contributor  to  the  periodicals  and 
an  author  of  no  mean  celebrity,  became  a  partici 
pator  in  the  all-engrossing  conversations  of  the  times. 
Mivins,  an  opulent,  influential  broker,  who  was  ac 
counted  "  a  good  man"  on  'change,  and  proudly 
denominated  in  that  vicinity  "  a  bear,"  took  him  by 
the  button,  and  pointing  out  the  ruins  of  a  building 
that  had  fallen  to  the  ground  not  long  before,  said, 

"  That,  sir,  is  now  all  that  remains  of  those  who 
were  nick-named  the  Rothschilds  of  this  country." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  their  misfortunes,"  said  Lee. 

"  Sorry  !"  rejoined  the  broker,  "  if  my  wish  could 
be  realized,  not  only  they,  but  all  the  Jews  in  New- 
York  should  be  buried  in  the  ruins." 

"  Why  so  ?"  said  Belmont,  a  calm,  dignified,  sil 
very-haired,  feeble  old  gentleman,  who  stood  next 


MR.   BEVERLEY  LEE.  133 

to  Lee,  and  who  had  been  listening  to  their  discourse 
without  taking  any  part  in  it. 

"  Because,"  said  Mivins,  raising  his  voice,  and 
clenching  his  hand  with  strong  emotion,  "  in  my 
opinion,  it's  part  of  the  religious  creed  of  a  Jew  to 
cheat  a  Christian." 

"  The  Christian  religion  does  not  teach  you  that 
precept,"  said  Belmont,  mildly,  a  slight  flush  passing 
over  his  fine  countenance  as  he  turned  upon  his  heel 
to  depart. 

"  Stop,  sir,"  said  Mivins,  placing  his  hand  upon 
the  old  gentleman's  shoulder  and  detaining  him,  "  if 
you  mean  any  thing  by  what  you  have  just  said,  you 
mean  to  insult  me,  and  thus  I  resent  it,"  added  he, 
furiously,  spitting  upon  his  garments. 

Belmont  instantly  rushed  upon  his  assailant,  and 
Lee,  perceiving  his  danger,  flung  himself  between 
the  parties  just  in  time  to  receive  the  blow  aimed  at 
his  new  acquaintance  full  upon  his  own  stal  worth 
bosom.  A  scuffle  ensued ;  but  the  parties  were 
soon  separated.  Not,  however,  until  cards  had  been 
exchanged,  and  the  residence  of  each  individual 
ascertained .  That  evening  Mivins  was  waited  upon 
with  a  cartel,  and  a  meeting  appointed  for  the  morn 
ing.  Lee  did  not  retire  to  rest  until  late  that  night ; 
his  mind  was  filled  with  contending  emotions.  It 
was  the  first  time  his  person  had  ever  been  profaned 
by  a  blow,  and  he  was  on  the  eve  of  washing  out 

L 


134  MR-    BEVERLEY   LEE. 

the  stain  upon  his  honour  with  his  blood.  Of  all 
characters  on  earth,  he  detested  that  of  a  duellist 
most ;  but  he  was  young,  ardent,  and  full  of  those 
false  notions  of  honour  which  have  deprived  the 
world  of  some  of  its  brightest  ornaments.  The  few 
hours  that  were  left  him  before  the  meeting,  were 
employed  in  making  his  testament,  and  in  writing  to 
one  who  was  dearer  to  him  than  life.  To  her  he 
enclosed  a  lock  of  his  hair,  and  a  tear  fell  upon  its 
glossy  brightness  at  the  thought  that  they  might 
never  meet  again. 

At  the  break  of  day,  which  was  cold,  comfortless 
and  misty,  two  small  boats  were  seen  shooting 
across  the  Hudson  river  towards  the  Jersey  shore. 
They  arrived  at  nearly  the  same  time.  Lee  and 
Mivins  stood  upon  the  bloodstained  spot  where 
Hamilton  fell.  As  the  parties  were  ab^pt  taking 
their  stations,  they  were  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  venerable  Belmont,  who  had  been 
the  innocent  cause  of  their  meeting.  Approaching 
Lee,  he  said — 

"  Young  man,  this  quarrel  is  mine  ;"  and,  turning 
to  Mivins,  he  continued,  "  from  you,  sir,  I  expect 
atonement  for  the  affront  you  offered  me  yesterday." 

"  I  came  here,"  replied  Mivins,  "  to  fight,  not  to 
talk.  Finding  myself  in  the  wrong,  however,  I  am 
willing  to  make  such  atonement  as  is  in  my  power. 
Of  you,  sir,  I  ask  pardon  for  what  was  done  in  a 


MR.    BEVERLEY    LEE.  135 

moment  of  excitement,  and  which,  I  hope,  your 
generosity  will  forgive." 

Mr.  Belmont  received  his  apology,  and  they  ap 
proached  Mr.  Lee,  who  stood  pistol  in  hand,  waiting 

-        ,      y.-*  •'     V'SKf  V-       -'     ''V    ; 

the  result  of  their  conversation. 

"  Mr.  Lee,"  said  the  broker,  "  if  a  voluntary- 
apology  will  be  accepted  by  you  for  an  insult  which 
I  certainly  never  intended,  I  am  prepared  to  make 
one." 

"  Proceed,  sir,"  said  Lee. 

"  The  blow,  sir,  was  not  directed  at  you,  but  at 
this  gentleman.  I  sincerely  regret  what  has  hap 
pened  ;  and  as  an  evidence  of  my  conviction  that  I 
was  to  blame,  allow  me  to  state  in  the  presence  of 
these  gentlemen,  that  had  not  this  interruption  taken 
place,  I  intended  to  have  received  your  fire  unre- 
turned  ;  and,  if  I  were  living,  to  have  made  the 
concessions  which  I  now  freely  tender." 

Lee  took  the  broker's  proffered  hand,  and  they  all 
returned  to  the  boat  of  Mr.  Belmont.  When  they 
were  seated,  Belmont  said  to  Mr.  Lee — 

"  You,  sir,  have  done  me  a  service,  and  I  have 
registered  it,  *  where  every  day  I'll  turn  the  leaf  to 
read  it.'  Like  the  Indian  missionary,  'injuries  I 
write  on  sand,  but  benefits  upon  marble.'  " 

Lee  did  not  reply ;  but  there  was  something  in 
Mr.  Belmont' s  tone  and  manner  that  strangely  in 
terested  him,  and  he  returned  the  pressure  of  his 
hand  with  all  the  warmth  of  glowing  friendship. 


136 


MR.   BEVERLEY  LEE. 


But  little  of  moment  occurred  on  the  water  except 
meeting,  when  about  half  way  across,  a  mysterious 
looking  craft  running  foul  of  a  schooner  in  the  mist, 
which  it  was  afterwards  ascertained  contained  the 
burly  person  of  Old  Hays  and  a  posse  of  police 
officers,  making  their  clumsy  way  to  the  scene  of 
action  ;  but,  as  usual,  these  worthies  were  too  late  to 
prevent  the  violation  of  the  law  or  a  breach  of  the 
peace. 

After  the  veritable  events,  which,  like  faithful 
chroniclers  we  have  just  recorded,  a  scene  of  confu 
sion  took  place  in  the  city  of  New- York  which  baffles 
all  description.  The  banks  suspended  specie  pay 
ments  ;  gold  and  silver  were  at  a  high  premium. 
The  town  was  inundated  with  a  species  of  small  pa- 


MR.   BEVERLEY  LEE.  137 

per  currency,  issued  by  every  individual  wishing  to 
make  money,  specimens  of  which  have  been  preserv 
ed  as  curiosities  to  the  present  day.  These  were 
small  pieces  of  pasteboard,  commonly  called  "  shin- 
plasters,"  having  printed  thereon  in  Roman  capitals, 
"  good  for  six  and  a  quarter  cents,"  or  any  other 
sum  which  seemed  good  to  the  person  issuing  the 
same,  and  having  his  own  Christian  and  sirname 
legibly  writt  ^n  in  the  right  hand  corner  of  the  paper. 
These  circulated  as  freely  among  the  community  as 
omnibus  tickets  or  bank  notes,  and  possessed  really 
about  as  much  intrinsic  value. 

The  term  shin-plaster  originated  with  an  old  sol 
dier  of  the  revolutionary  war,  who,  after  fighting  the 
battles  of  his  country,  was  left  to  penury  and  want 
by  a  government,  who  paid  him  for  his  services  in 
what  was  commonly  denominated,  "  continental 
money,"  which,  after  the  peace,  it  refused  to  redeem. 
This  old  soldier  had  received  a  wound  upon  the  leg 
at  the  battle  of  "Bunker  Hill ;"  and  believing  that 
the  money  was  printed  upon  paper  of  an  adhesive 
quality,  and  knowing  it  to  be  good  for  nothing  else, 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  dressing  his  wound  with  the 
rags,  and  calling  them  "  shin  plasters;"  hence  the 
name,  which  will  always  stick  to  them  to  the  end  of 
the  world. 


138 


MR.  BEVERLEY  LEE. 


The  city,  as  we  said,  was  in  commotion.  The  in 
habitants  seemed  beside  themselves.  Every  one  ap 
peared  to  be  acting  a  part  in  the  great  comedy  of 
"  Frightened  to  Death."  The  example  set  by  the 
merchant  was  followed  by  all  other  classes.  Stopping 
payment  was  universal.  All  business  was  at  a  stand 
still.  Men  assembled  in  clusters  on  the  corners  of 
the  streets.  Argument  ran  high,  and  the  everlasting 
words  of  General  Jackson — Tammany-Hall — The 
Monster — Bribery  and  Corruption — Nick  Biddle — 
Veto — Pewter  Mug — Ruin — Loco-Foco — Real  Es 
tate — Henry  Clay — The  People — Fanny  Wright — 
and  other  villanous  compounds  of  the  alphabet,  were 


MR.   BEVERLEY  LEE.  139 

dinned  into  the  ears  of  all  who  would  listen  to 
them.  Enormous  hand-bills  were  posted  about  the 
city,  calling  public-meetings  in  the  Park.  Com 
mittees  were  appointed  to  go  to  Washington  and 
Albany.  Processions  of  tatterdemalions  moved 
through  the  streets  with  bands  of  music  and  co 
lours  flying.  Those  who  had  notes  to  pay  were 
shinning  it  to  borrow  the  money.  If  they  succeeded, 
the  notes  were  paid ;  if  not,,  they  were  laid  over, 
and  nothing  more  was  thought  of  the  matter.  Men 
of  all  professions,  callings,  and  occupations,  were 
idle,  except  the  notaries,  who  fattened  on  the  dis 
tresses  of  all  around  them,  and  were  busy  from  the 
time  the  banks  closed  until  late  in  the  evening,  pro 
testing  the  notes  of  all  unfortunate  makers  of  the 
same  who  were  unable  to  cancel  them  as  they  had 
promised. 

Woful  were  the  misgivings  of  the  merchants  ; 
woful  were  the  forebodings  of  the  mechanic ;  and 
woful  were  the  apprehensions  and  countenances  of 
all  misguided  victims  who  had  speculated  in  building 
lots  and  lithographic  cities  ! 

Mr.  Beverley  Lee,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  was  one 
of  this  latter  class.  On  his  leaving  college,  he  came 
into  possession  of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Being  an 
embryo  author,  whose  craft  taught  him  to  build  cas 
tles  in  the  air — a  man  of  fancy — young,  ardent,  and 
inexperienced,  and  hearing  what  immense  fortunes 


140  MR-   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

had  been  amassed  by  speculating  iii  lots,  in  an  evil 
hour  he  attended  a  sale  of  real  estate  at  the  "  Mer 
chants  Exchange." 

He  bought  lots  on  the  Avenues — he  bought  lots  at 
Harlem — he  bought  lots  at  New-Brighton — he  bought 
lots  at  Skaneateles — he  bought  lots  at  Jamaica — he 
bought  lots  at  Buffalo — he  bought  lots  at  Cahawba 
— he  bought  lots  in  Texas — and,  in  short,  he  bought 
lots  everywhere.  He  had  building  lots,  and  water 
lots,  and  all  sorts  of  lots.  He  was  the  owner  of 
towns,  villages,  and  counties. 

To  obtain  these  invaluable  privileges,  he  had  paid 
every  farthing  of  his  fifty  thousand  dollars,  had 
given  his  notes  for  several  hundred  thousand,  and 
mortgaged  his  estate  to  an  unimaginable  amount. 
He  was  a  great  landholder — one  of  the  lords  of  the 
soil.  His.  word  was  good  on  'change.  Bank  direc 
tors  took  their  hats  off  to  him.  Dealers  in  fancy 
stock  greeted  him  with  smiles  ;  and  Mr.  Beverley 
Lee  was  a  man  estimated  to  be  worth  millions  of 
dollars.  While  this  delusion  lasted,  everything 
went  on  swimmingly.  What  the  people  thought  of 
Mr.  Beverley  Lee,  Mr.  Beverley  Lee  thought  of 
himself.  It  was  an  exceedingly  agreeable  thing  to 
be  rich — very  rich,  enormously  rich,  and  to  become 
so  too  all  of  a  sudden,  and  without  the  least  exertion. 
Mr.  Beverley  Lee  purchased  a  town-house,  a  coun 
try-house,  a  villa  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  and 


MR.   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

he  embellished  his  mansions  with  gorgeous  furniture. 
He  gave  entertainments  to  his  friends,  and  regaled 
them  with  costly  viands.  He  rolled  in  riches.  It 
was  pleasant — very. 

Time,  however,  that  rigid  schoolmaster,  taught 
Mr.  Beverley  Lee  a  lesson,  which  it  would  have  been 
better  for  him  had  he  sooner  learned.  He  knew  he 
became  suddenly  rich,  but  it  never  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  become  suddenly  poor.  True,  he  had 
read  that  riches  take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly 
away  ;  but  he  had  read  that  passage  as  applicable  to 
other  men,  not  to  himself.  When  the  veto  came, 
he  opened  his  eyes,  and  began  to  look  about  him. 
He  feared  there  would  be  a  storm,  but  he  did  not 
look  for  a  tornado.  First  came  the  assessors,  and 
demanded  of  him  a  thumping  sum  of  money  for  open 
ing  streets  and  improving  his  property.  This  Mr. 
Beverley  Lee  paid,  thinking  it  very  kind  in  them  to 
take  such  good  care  of  his  interests,  considering  he 
had  not  the  honour  of  their  acquaintance.  Next 
came  the  tax-gatherers,  with  large  demands,  which 
Mr.  Beverley  Lee  cancelled  with  rather  a  sorry 
grace.  Then  came  the  holders  of  mortgages  for 
their  interest,  which  drained  Mr.  Beverley  Lee  of 
his  last  shilling,  and  he  was  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  the  banks  for  a  new  discount  to  keep  up  ap 
pearances. 


142  MR-   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

This  he  readily  obtained,  and  things  went  on 
very  well  with  Mr.  Beverley  Lee,  until  the  banks 
were  compelled  to  deny  him  farther  favours.  Then 
his  difficulties  began  to  thicken.  The  notes  he  had 
given  for  his  property  fell  due  one  after  the  other, 
and  were  protested.  In  walked  the  auctioneer,  and 
began  to  knock  down  his  beautiful  furniture,  his  li 
brary,  his  racing-stud,  his  country-house,,  his  town- 
house,  and  everything  that  was  his,  real  or  imagi 
nary.  His  lots,  building  and  water,  reverted  to  their 
original  owners;  and  Mr.  Beverley  Lee,  was,  in  the 
year  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-six,  obliged  to 
"  waddle"  out  of  Wall-street  as  "  lame  a  duck"  as  was 
ever  hatched  in  that  nest  of  disappointment  and 
speculation. 

In  an  elegantly  finished  mansion  near  the  Battery, 
about  a  year  after  the  events  just  related,  a  family 
were  seated  round  the  evening  fireside.  Emily 
Withers  was  reclining  on  an  ottoman,  listening  to 
the  conversation  of  her  parents  and  Mr.  Larence 
Payne,  a  young  attorney  of  small  practice,  but  large 
expectations,  who  professed  a  great  regard  for  the 
Withers  in  general,  and  the  young  lady  in  particu 
lar,  who  had  on  several  occasions  given  him  the  most 
unequivocal  proofs  of  her  utter  aversion.  He,  how 
ever,  was  not  easily  discouraged,  and  continued  his 
visits,  in  the  hopes  of  one  day  possessing  not  only 


MR.  BEVERLEY  LEE.  143 

the  heart,  but,  what  was  of  more  consequence  to 
him,  the  fortune  of  the  lady. 

Emily,  was  a  lovely,  dark-eyed  girl,  perfect  in 
form  and  feature,  and  the  reigning  belle  and  beauty 
of  the  town.  She  was  an  only  child,  and  the  sole 
hope  of  her  fond  and  doating  parents.  She  was  very 
beautiful,  and  throngs  of  admirers  had  sought  her 
hand  in  vain.  On  her  first  entrance  into  society, 
she  was  a  light-hearted,  merry  creature,  full  of  mirth 
and  good-humour ;  but  of  late  and  wherefore,  none 
could  tell,  a  sad  depressing  melancholy  had  taken 
possession  of  her  thoughts  ;  and,  as  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  her  hand,  which  was  buried  in  her  lux 
uriant  tresses,  the  most  casual  might  observe  that 
all  was  not  at  ease  about  her  heart.  She  was 
listening,  we  said,  to  the  conversation ;  and  when 
Mr.  Lee's  name  was  mentioned,  a  crimson  flush 
stole  over  the  pearly  texture  of  her  face  and  bosom, 
which  spoke  more  truly  than  words,  that  she  listened 
with  an  interest  she  in  vain  endeavoured  to  conceal. 
"I  do  not  think,"  said  Mr.  Withers,  " that  Mr. 
Lee  is  the  man  you  represent  him." 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  not,"  said  his  wife ;  and  the 
eyes  of  Emily  kindled  with  emotion  as  her  mother 
spoke. 

"  What !"  said  Payne,  "  did  he  not  cheat  all  his 
creditors,  and  run  away  f" 

"  I  have  heard  that  his  failure  was  owing  to  the 
fall  of  real  estate,"  said  Mr.  Withers. 


144  MR-   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

"And  from  whom  did  you  hear  that?"  inquired 
Payne. 

"  From  my  friend  Mivens,  the  broker,  with  whom 
you  may  recollect  he  had  a  duel,  which — " 

"Ended  in  smoke,"  said  the  attorney,  with  a 
smirk,  intended  to  convey  a  stronger  meaning  than 
his  words  expressed. 

"  Yet,  in  that  affair,  Mivins  said  he  behaved  like 
a  man  of  the  strictest  honour." 

"  Honour  !"  said  the  attorney,  emphatically  ;  yet, 
at  the  same  time,  drawling  out  the  word  lago-like, 
as  l  though  there  was  some  hidden  monster  in  his 
thought.' 

"  Yes,  sir,  honour.  Mivins  says  that  affair  bound 
him  to  Lee  for  ever,  and  that  he  would  endorse  his 
honour  with  his  life.  He  also  declared  that,  when 
he  heard  of  Lee's  embarrassments,  he  would  have 
assisted  him  to  the  utmost  extent  of  his  means,  if  he 
could  have  found  him;  but  he  had  disappeared,  and 
no  one  knew  whither  he  had  gone." 

"  Mivins,  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  he  to  his 
wife,  "  though  an  impetuous,  hasty  man,  has  a  noble, 
generous  heart." 

"  He  has,  indeed,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Withers. 
During  the  last  part  of  this  conversation,  Emily  had, 
unperceived  by  any  one,  unfolded  a  small  billet- 
doux,  which  contained  a  lock  of  dark  glossy  hair ; 
and  a  liquid  pearl  shot  into  her  eye  as  she  recalled 


MR.  BEVERLEY  LEE.  345 

the  image  of  him  who  had  sent  it,  and  read  over  the 
kind  words  of  affection  that  accompanied  the  trea 
sured  relick.  Looking  up,  she  noticed  that  the  eyes 
of  the  attorney  were  riveted  upon  her;  she  hastily 
concealed  the  note  in  her  bosom,  and  turned  upon 
him  a  glance  of  cold  contempt  and  indignation. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Payne,"  inquired  Mrs.  With 
ers,  "  what  became  of  Mr.  Lee  after  his  failure  ?" 

"I  know  nothing  more  than  I  have  told  you,"  said 
Payne.  "  I  could  not  keep  the  run  of  him.  He  gave 
me  leg-bail  for  the  last  suit  I  brought  against  him, 
which  I  believe  was  all  the  bail  he  had  to  give.  I 
wish  I  could  catch  him  now." 

"  What  for  ?"  asked  Withers. 

"  To  lock  him  up." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  never  liked  him." 

"  What  offence  has  he  given  you  ?" 

"  None ;  but  I  always  considered  him  a  man  of 
shallow  parts — a  self-conceited,  inflated  coxcomb — 
a  bankrupt,  who  defrauded  honest  people  out  of  their 
just  demands,  and  who  proved  himself  a  coward, 
by  running  away  from  those  whom  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  face." 

Emily  rose  from  her  seat,  her  eyes  flashing  fire, 
and  her  lip  quivering  like  a  rose-leaf  in  a  storm. 

"  Silence,  sir !  I  wonder  you  do  not  blush  to  slan 
der  the  innocent  in  their  absence.  I  am  ashamed  to 

M 


146  MR*  BEVERLEY  LEE. 

have  remained  here  so  long  to  hear  him  abused. 
6  A  man  of  shallow  parts !'  If  you  possessed  but  a 
moiety  of  his  mind,  you  might  be  a  gentleman.  *  A 
coward,'  sir !  It  would  be  more  than  your  perni 
cious  soul  is  worth,  to  breathe  that  in  his  presence. 
O  shame  upon  you,  to  make  his  misfortunes  your 
triumph  !  I'll  not  hear  you,  sir,"  continued  Emily, 
as  the  crest-fallen  attorney  was  about  to  reply. 
"  You  have  slandered  the  absent,  and  insulted  those 
present ;  and  I  wonder  my  parents  have  listened  to 
you  so  long."  As  she  spoke  these  words,  she  quitted 
the  apartment,  leaving  her  father  and  mother  in 
mute  astonishment,  and  the  attorney  riveted  to  the 
spot. 

The  feelings  of  Payne  may  be  imagined.  He  had 
missed  the  mark  at  which  he  aimed,  and  wounded 
the  heart  he  hoped  to  win.  He  left  the  house  shortly 
afterwards  sunk  in  his  own  estimation,  and  se 
riously  meditating  a  jaunt  to  Texas. 

On  the  following  afternoon,  just  before  five,  the 
wharf  at  the  foot  of  Courtlandt-street  was  filled  with 
people  of  all  descriptions,  making  their  way  out  of 
the  city.  It  was  near  the  hour  for  the  departure  of 
the  steamboats,  and  consequently  carts,  carriages, 
and  omnibusses — men,  women,  and  children — 
wheelbarrows,  porters,  carriers  and  news-boys,  were 
crowded  together  promiscuously. 


MR.   BEVERLEY  LEE.  147 

"  Here's  the  Courier  and  Enquirer,  sir." 

"  Here's  the  Star,  sir  ;  buy  the  good  old  major, 
sir,  for  a  trifle." 

"  Three  Americans  for  sixpence,  sir." 

"  Sun,  Transcript,  Herald,  and  New  Era." 

"  Baggage  for  West-Point,  sir." 

"  That's  your  bandbox,  ma'am,  which  the  porter 
smashed.  I'll  take  care  of  it  for  you,  ma'am." 

"  Do,  Peter,  that's  a  good  lad." 

"  All  ashore  that's  going." 

"  Haul  in  the  plank." 

Whiz — phiz — whiz. 

"  Let  go  that  line — haul  in." 

And  away  darted  the  North  America,  like  a  foam 
ing  steed  let  loose,  boldly  and  gallantly,  out  into  the 
sparkling  river. 

Ding-a-ling-a-ling — "  All  those  as  has  not  settled 
their  fare,  step  to  the  capting's  office  and  do  it 
there."  Ding-a-ling. 

And  by  the  time  the  passage  is  paid  and  the  lug 
gage  recovered,  the  passengers  find  themselves 
splashing  and  dashing  beneath  the  Palisades,  some 
miles  on  their  way  to  Albany. 

The  departure  of  the  steamboats  from  the  city,  on 
a  clear  summer's  afternoon,  is  a  beautiful  sight. 
They  all  leave  at  the  same  hour,  and  they  shoot  from 
the  innumerable  piers  out  into  the  glassy  stream  in 
such  numbers,  that  one  would  think  half  the  popu- 


148  MR-   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

lation  were  slipping  away,  and  wonder  how  it  is 
they  are  not  missed  from  the  metropolis. 

Among  those  on  board  the  North  America,  were 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Withers  and  their  lovely  daughter, 
who  had  just  commenced  the  fashionable  tour  of  the 
season.  But  their  presence  was  forgotten  or  un 
noticed,  in  the  circulation  of  a  report  which  spread 
like  a  panic  among  the  passengers,  that  a  notorious 
individual,  of  whom  everybody  had  heard,  but  whom 
nobody  had  seen,  was  on  board.  This  person  had 
made  more  noise  in  the  city  of  New-York,  than  any 
one  who  had  lived  since  the  abdication  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant.  He  of  the  Iron-mask — the  author  of 
Junius — the  Great  Unknown — had  not  excited  more 
curiosity  in  their  day  and  generation,  than  the  mys 
terious  being  of  whom  we  are  now  writing.  To 
that  strange  character  had  been  attributed  all  the 
manifold  disasters  of  the  country :  the  hard  times — 
the  suspension  of  specie  payments — the  troubles  of 
abolition,  and  every  other  evil  that  threatened  the 
safety  of  the  republic.  He  possessed  a  wonderful 
faculty  for  doing  mischief,  and  what  was  more  won 
derful  still,  a  sort  of  magical  ubiquity,  for  he  was 
here,  there,  and  everywhere  at  the  same  time.  At 
one  moment  he  was  in  Wall-street,  levelling  the 
banks  with  staves  and  Hudgeons  ;  at  another,  he 
was  assaulting  the  arsenal  of  the  state,  (where,  by 
the  way,  it  is  said  he  captured  and  imprisoned  the 


MR.   BEVERLEY   LEE.  149 

commissary-general,  his  son  George,  and  Cornelius 
the  carpenter.)  He  was  a  great  "  agitator,"  and  his 
name  struck  terror  to  the  hearts  and  souls  of  the 
Gothamites. 

"  Who  could  he  be  ?"  asked  everybody  ;  but  no 
body  knew. 

From  what  we  have  just  said,  the  reader  will  at 
once  perceive  that  "  the  man  in  the  claret-coloured 
coat"  was  on  board  the  steamer. 

But  where  he  was,  or  what  he  was,  or  who  he 
was,  remained  as  profound  a  mystery  as  the  philo 
sopher's  stone. 

The  shades  of  evening  thickened  among  the  High 
lands,  and  the  dew-dropping  clouds  hung  like  misty 
veils  over  the  hill-tops,  concealing  their  beauty  and 
shrouding  them  from  the  sight..  The  passengers  re 
tired  to  their  cabins,  and,  notwithstanding  the  curi 
osity  of  all,  the  man  in  the  claret-coloured  coat  was 
nowhere  to  be  seen,  although  it  was  ascertained  to  a 
certainty  that  he  was  on  board.  The  North  Amer 
ica  arrived  in  Albany  before  the  break  of  day,  and 
long  ere  any  of  the  sleepers  were  stirring,  that 
shadowy,  invisible  spirit  had  gone  on  shore  and 
"  vanished  into  thin  air." 

Some  said  he  was  on  his  way  to  Canada  to  join 
the  patriots ;  and,  for  the  peace  of  the  good  city  of 
New- York,  we  not  only  hope  the  story  is  true,  but 


It' 


150  MR-   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

that  the  arch-fiend  in  human  shape  may  be  shot  there, 
and  trouble  our  worthy  fellow-citizens  no  more. 

At  Albany,  Emily  Withers  and  her  parents  took 
the  cars  for  Saratoga,  where  we  shall  leave  them  to 
drink  the  hygeian-waters,  and  pass  away  the  sultry 
months  of  summer. 

Seated  in  a  gloomy  apartment  in  a  remote  part  of 
the  town,  was  a  poor  author— pale  and  emaciated, 
and  just  recovering  from  a  protracted  indisposition, 
that  had  nearly  brought  him  to  the  grave.  He  was 
completing  a  new  work  of  fiction  for  the  press  of 
Lea  and  Blanchard,  who,  with  a  liberality  usual 
with  those  enlightened  bibliopoles,  when  they  dis 
cover  undoubted  genius  and  unemployed  talent,  had 
paid  for  the  work  in  advance,  and  thus  prevented 
the  author  from  starving  while  he  wrote.  A  table, 
a  few  chairs,  writing  materials,  the  works  of  Shaks- 
peare,  Walter  Scott  and  Washington  Irving,  were 
the  principal  articles  in  his  room.  The  author's 
loose  morning-gown,  like  himself,  had  seen  better 
days;  and  his  shirt-collar  being  unbuttoned  and 
falling  on  his  shoulders,  disclosed  a  throat  and  head 
that  might  have  furnished  a  study  for  the  sculptor. 
His  pale  features  were  occasionally  lighted  with  a 
smile,  and  fire  kindled  in  his  thoughtful  eye  as  the 
rich  treasures  of  his  mind  were  poured  upon  the 
paper.  The  work  was  finished.  He  laid  aside  his 


MR.    BEVERLEY   LEE. 

pen,  and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  communed 
with  himself. 

"  My  task  is  accomplished.  The  desire  of  my 
heart  is  at  length  fulfilled,  and  though  times  have 
sadly  changed  with  me,  and  the  blind  goddess 
proven  herself  a  fickle  jade,  yet  I  feel  that  by  indus 
try  and  my  pen,  I  may  yet  retrieve  my  sunken  for 
tunes.  Well,  the  past  were  pleasant  days,  but  they 
have  vanished,  and  with  them  all  the  hopes  they 
inspired.  Pain,  penury,  and  disease  have  long  ex 
iled  me  from  the  world ;  but  I  shall  return  to  it 
again,  a  wiser,  and  I  trust  a  better  man.  O  Emily, 
why  does  your  bright  image  mingle  with  all  my 
fondest  recollections  of  by-gone  times  ?  You  have 
forgotten  me  now  ;  yet,  how  devotedly  have  I  loved. 
Proud,  passionate  and  wealthy,  the  world  is  all  be 
fore  you  where  to  choose  ;  and,  though  in  the  hours 
of  my  prosperity,  hope  flattered  me  with  the  belief 
that  you  would  one  day  be  mine,  it  would  be  pre 
sumption  now.  No,  Emily,  that  golden  dream  is 
over — my  heart  is  breaking  at  the  thought  that  you 
never,  never  can  be  mine  !" 

Little  knew  Mr.  Lee  (it  was  he  who  spoke,)  the 
heart  of  faithful,  trusting,  doating  woman.  When 
her  affections  are  once  bestowed,  she  smiles  att  all 
the  reverses  of  the  world,  and  her  love  endures  when 
all  else  perishes.  Woman's  love  is  like  the  hardy 
evergreen  of  our  own  native  groves,  and  looks  as 


152  MR-    BEVERLEY   LEE. 

cheerful  in  the  storms  of  winter  as  when  the  genial 
airs  of  spring-time  play  around  its  branches,  and  all 
the  other  trees  of  the  forest  dress  themselves  in 
holliday  apparel,  amid  the  melody  of  birds  and  the 
silvery  sounds  of  running  waters. 

Our  author's  revery  was  broken  by  a  knock  at  the 
door  of  his  apartment ;  he  arose  to  let  the  intruder 
in,  and  the  detested  person  of  Larence  Payne  stood 
before  him. 

"So,"  said  the  attorney,  "  I  have  found  you  at 
last.  Snug  quarters  these — quite  out  of  the  way  of 
the  bailiffs,  eh,  Mr.  Lee  ?  Well,  this  is  much  better 
than  paying  notes,  interest,  assessments  and  taxes. 
Eve^thing  quite  comfortable  and  snug,  I  declare." 

"  To  what,"  said  Lee,  recovering  from  his  sur 
prise,  "  am  I  indebted  for  this  intrusion?" 

"  Intrusion  !  Well,  I  like  that  phraseology.  No 
intrusion  at  all — not  in  the  ]east.  I  came  by  order 
of  a  court  of  law,  and  here  are  two  bailiffs  with  writs 
in  their  pockets  for  you  ;  so  you  see  you  are  wanted 
and  must  go." 

"  If  you  were  not  beneath  my  notice,  I  would 
throw  you  out  of  the  window  for  your  impertinence," 
said  Lee.  "  Solely  on  account  of  your  insignificance, 
I  let  you  escape  !" 

"  Excessively  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Larence 
Payne,  as,  with  an  oblique  movement,  he  made  the 


MR.    BEVERLEY   LEE.  153 

best  of  his  way  down  stairs,  followed  by  the  sheriffs 
and  their  prisoner. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  City-hall,  Mr.  Lee  was 
astonished  to  learn  that  every  judgment  against  him 
had  been  cancelled  on  the  record,  arf&  that  he  was 
free  from  debt  and  at  liberty.  At  this  unexpected 
news,  the  attorney,  unperceived  by  anyone,  skulked 
away  from  the  Hall,  and  was  soon  in  a  place  of 
concealment. 

Mr.  Lee  was  lost  in  amazement  at  this  unlooked- 
for  stroke  of  good  fortune.  He  breathed  more  freely 
than  he  had  done  for  months.  It  seemed  as  though 
a  mountain  of  difficulty  had  been  rolled  from  his 
mind ;  he  was  a  new  creature.  But  who  was  his 
benefactor  ?  What  generous  spirit  was  it  that  step 
ped  forward  in  his  moment  of  greatest  need  and  re 
leased  him  from  bondage  ?  Was  it  Mivins  the 
broker  ?  It  must  be  he.  Lee  knew  no  other  indi 
vidual  in  the  world  capable  of  such  an  act.  It  was 
like  him.  It  was  noble. 

Within  the  last  year  a  change  had  come  over  the 
destinies  of  New-York.  Commerce  once  more 
spread  her  snowy  pinions  to  the  breeze.  The  ham 
mer  sounded  cheerfully  upon  the  anvil.  The  banks 
resumed  the  payment  of  specie.  Confidence  was 
restored.  Talent,  enterprise  and  industry  again  re 
ceived  their  merited  reward,  and  bright  hearts  and 
smiling  faces  were  everywhere  to  be  seen.  It  seemed 


154  MR-   BEVERLEY  LEE. 

as  though  the  wand  of  Prospero  had  been  at  work 
— such  a  change  came  over  the  whole  community. 
The  gay  and  fashionable  had  returned  from  their 
summer  tour,  and  Emily  Withers  was  once  more  in 
town,  improved  in  health  and  radiant  in  beauty. 

It  was  an  autumn  evening.  A  line  of  carriages 
stood  in  State-street  and  round  the  Battery,  their 
lamps  sparkling  like  fire-flies  among  the  trees,  and 
illuminating  the  neighbourhood  far  and  near.  The 
house  of  Mr.  Withers  streamed  with  light,  and  was 
thronged  with  company.  There  was  a  wedding- 
there.  The  guests  had  all  arrived.  Among  them 
the  venerable  Belmont,  who  was  the  presiding  ge 
nius  of  the  scene. 

When  in  England,  whither  he  had  gone,  shortly 
after  the  duel  mentioned  in  the  early  part  of  this 
narrative,  he  heard  of  Lee's  misfortunes,  and  taking 
the  first  packet,  he  hastened  to  relieve  them.  -On 
his  arrival  in  New-York,  he  cancelled  all  his  respon 
sibilities,  for  his  wealth  was  inexhaustible,  and  set 
tled  upon  Mr.  Lee  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  he  had 
so  thoughtlessly  lost  in  his  speculations,  and  had 
hither  come  to  witness  the  happiness  of  his  friend 
in  his  union  with  the  blooming  Emily. 

"  Why  have  you  taken  such  an  interest  in  that 
young  man  f"  asked  Mivins  the  broker. 


MR.  BEVERLEY  LEE.  155 

"  He  did  me  a  service,  and  it  is  a  debt  of  gratitude 
paid  by  a  Jew  to  a  Christian" 

My  story  is  done — "  But  what,"  asks  the  reader, 
"became  of  little  Payne  the  attorney?" 

He  did  not  go  to  Texas,  but  to  Canada,  to  fight 
the  battles  of  the  patriots. 

•"  And  died  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  gallantly  fighting  by  the  side  of  THE  MAN 


